Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. Armed, however, with the implement he had so fortunately obtained, he did not despair of success.
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