\" She thought of her kill. It developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners. There is the election——” He laughed derisively. "They imagine their work is done. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. As for the doctor, he found a pleasure in this service that would have puzzled him had he paused to analyse it. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled.
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