Ethan Frome | Prologue - Page 5

Frome stamped on the worn oil-cloth to shake the snow from his boots, and set down his lantern on a kitchen chair which was the only piece of furniture in the hall. Then he opened the door.

“Come in,” he said; and as he spoke the droning voice grew still…

It was that night that I found the clue to Ethan Frome, and began to put together this vision of his story. . . . . .