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“Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. Understand me. If you want advice, your aunt is the person. That blow made me a thief. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites.
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