“You have the temperament,” he said. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. You don’t know, Anna, but when one is in danger one realizes that the— the other side of the line is Hell. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soul rather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually three hundred years. Several men and women were piled there like wood, dead, horribly gored.
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