Are you now satisfied?" "No," interposed Wood, furiously, "I shall never be satisfied till I see you hanged on the highest gibbet at Tyburn. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ’ If you engage me it must be upon my own merits. Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement. He still watched her and questioned her. He continued thoughtfully.
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