He felt a sudden
access of anger against them, because they had deserted a master so kind
and just, forgetting, for the moment that he was fighting to free them
from that very master.
All the windows were dark, but he walked upon the portico and the dry
autumn leaves rustled under his feet. He would have turned away, but he
noticed that the front door stood ajar six or eight inches. The fact
amazed him. If a servant was about, he would not leave it open, and if
robbers were in the house, they would close it in order not to attract
attention. It was a great door of massive and magnificent oak, highly
polished, with heavy bands of glittering bronze running across it.
But it was so lightly poised on its hinges, that, despite its great
weight, a child could have swung it back and forth with his little
finger. Henry Ware, who built the house after his term as governor was
over, was always proud of this door.
Dick ran his hand along one of the polished bronze bars as he had often
done when he was a boy, enjoying the cool touch of the metal. Then
he put his thumb against the edge of the door, and pushed it a little
further open.
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