“‘The little Mexican couple.’ ‘How do you mean?’ asked my wife. "Never a sound,’ I said. ‘Listen.’ Ours was a house deep back in among tenements, to which another half-house had been added. When my wife and I purchased the house, we rented the additional quarter which lay walled up against one side of our parlour. Now, listening at this particular wall, we heard our hearts beat. ‘I know they’re home,’ I whispered. ‘But in the three years they’ve lived here I’ve never heard a dropped pan, a spoke...n word, or the sound of a light switch. Good God, what are they doing in there?’ ‘I’d never thought,’ said my wife. ‘It is peculiar.’ ‘Only one light on, that same dim little blue 25-watt bulb they burn in the parlour. If you walk by and peer in their front door, there he is, sitting in his armchair, not saying a word, his hands in his lap. There she is, sitting in the other armchair, looking at him, saying nothing. They don’t move.’ ‘At first glance I always think they’re not home,’ said my wife.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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