Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. ‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. He smiled complacently. “It’s a great deal for a young lady who’s alone in the world, as I suppose you are at present, to have a respectable home, and I do not think in such a case that private apartments are at all desirable. She was nude and horribly maimed. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. . The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance.
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