I was already doing a lot of splendid research reading all the books about ghosts I could get hold of, and particularly true ghost stories - so much so that it became necessary for me to read a chapter of _Little Women_ every night before I turned out the light - and at the same time I was collecting pictures of houses, particularly odd houses, to see what I could find to make into a suitable haunted house.

All I could think of when I got a look at the place from the outside was what fun it would be to stand out there and watch it burn down.

I delight in what I fear.

Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

It is only with the eyes open that a corporeal form returns, and assembles itself firmly around the hard core of sight.

Oh Constance, we are so happy.

Bridge is a game for the undivided intellect.