‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. V. with you. Catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck, while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth, and grasping Wild's head with his arm, notwithstanding his resistance, cut deeply into his throat. Blood, they say, won't come out. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. She thought me— filthy. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse.
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