Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. His manner was deferential, even eager. Sensitive, aren’t they?” She chuckled. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. Covering his face with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate, Jack entered the room; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the bed, and approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers. Saw the villain through the keyhole.
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