The sky outside the Benson mansion was pitch black. The sun was still hours away from rising. The air was incredibly freezing and quiet.
Damon had not slept a single wink. He had spent the entire night lying on the bed, thinking.
He got down from bed and walked out of the study. He was wearing his cotton sleeping trousers and his linen sleeping shirt.
He walked quietly down the back stairs, heading toward the servants' quarters on the ground floor.
He reached a plain door at the end of the hallway. He raised his hand and knocked firmly.
Knock. Knock.
A few moments later, the door opened slowly.
Mr. Murry stood in the doorway. The old housekeeper was wearing a long white nightshirt and holding a small candle. His gray hair was messy, and his eyes were full of sleepy confusion.
When Murry saw the tall, broad figure of the General standing in the dark hallway, all the sleep instantly vanished from his brain.
