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Updated: May 8, 2025
If she married Tom that meant selfish happiness for they two alone, but as house mother she was of use to seventeen times two persons. "The greatest good to the greatest number," she whispered, as she slid her latchkey into the lock. The living room was dark. The girls had long since gone to their rooms. Grace's feet made no sound on the soft velvet carpet as she hurried up the stairs.
"Let's go in quietly. There may be something queer going on." Aubrey turned the knob gently. The door was locked. Roger pulled out his latchkey and cautiously released the bolt. Then he opened the door slightly about an inch. "You're taller than I am," he whispered. "Reach up and muffle the bell above the door while I open it."
Now he ran up the shallow steps of the staircase. There was a sort of tumult within him. He felt angry, he did not know why. His whole body was longing to do something strong, eager, even violent. He hated his latchkey, he hated the long stroll in Hyde Park, the absurd delay upon the bridge, his preoccupation with the Muscovy duck, or whatever bird it was, voyaging over the Serpentine.
He let himself into the mansion with a latchkey, stormed at the servants for their carelessness, and made what is commonly known as a scene. Then he crossed the hall, and went into another fine room, which led by steps into a garden, and caught the sunset.
"I can see it enough for that." "Look here," George suggested, with false lightness, "I expect I could get in through my window." His room was on the ground floor, and not much agility was needed to clamber up to its ledge from the level of the area. He might have searched his pockets again and discovered his latchkey, but he would not.
There were some two hundred privileged spectators of the scene, all squeezed into a sort of pen at the extreme end of the court, and nearly everyone of them held a latchkey in readiness, so that he might whistle down it if the orator afforded any opportunity for derision. A shrill scream of sound rose as Labori uttered the words.
If I were a man, I wouldn't stay here a day longer than I had to." Peter was silent as they went in at the gate and opened the door, for on this festive occasion they were provided with a latchkey. He turned up the light in the hall to behold a transformation quite as wonderful as any contained in the "Arabian Nights" or Keightley's "Fairy Mythology."
It was only on the second floor that the character of the establishment became unmistakable. Billy took Caroline's latchkey from her, she usually opened the door for herself and let her quietly into the dim interior. Then he stepped inside himself, and closed the door gently after him.
And as there ain't anybody in sight to register my fond farewells with, I gathers up my suitcase and laundry bag, chucks the latchkey on the stand in the front hall, and beats it.
What if Thyme had inherited her grandfather's single-mindedness? Martin was giving proof of it. Things, she knew, often skipped a generation and then set in again. Surely, surely, it could not have done that! With longing, yet with dread, she waited for the sound of Stephen's latchkey. It came at its appointed time. Even in her agitation Cecilia did not forget to spare him, all she could.
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