She leans towards the door again, and hears the faint, sharp cry of a baby. Something about the noise recalls the strange sound she'd thought she'd heard by the dock, and the wave of fear in her head (an authentic fear, not one learned from the gothic extremities of a novel) crashes in again, and she begins to strike the door.
'Mr Marr! Mr Marr! Let me in please, Mr Marr! It is Margaret.'
A hand falls on her shoulder and she whirls around, the shout frozen in her throat. Behind her stands a short, stinking stranger who puts his toothless face into hers and yells at her: ...