“Julie, my Julie.” It followed the woman down the four flights of the stair-well. It was the softest whisper, the strongest claim, that human lips can utter. It did not make her falter, lose a step. Her face was white when she came out into the daylight, that was all.
~ from The Bride Wore Black, by Cornell Woolrich.
Found this clip of Bernard Herrmann discussing his score for Francois Truffaut’s first Woolrich adaptation. Neat.
shadowplay 