movements. Her face was not beautiful. It was long, and palely
lighted, while the mouth crossed the lower half like a gash of fire.
The lips were as voluptuous as before. Her brows were heavy. There
was nothing vulgar in her--she looked the kingliest of all women.
She appeared not more than twenty-five.

Growing tired, apparently, of his scrutiny, she pushed him a little
way and allowed her arm to drop, at the same time curving her mouth
into a long, bowlike smile. "Whom have I to thank for this gift of
life?"

Her voice was rich, slow, and odd. Maskull felt himself in a dream.

"My name is Maskull."

She motioned to him to come a step nearer. "Listen, Maskull. Man
after man has drawn me into the world, but they could not keep me
there, for I did not wish it. But now you have drawn me into it for
all time, for good or evil."

Maskull stretched a hand toward the now invisible corpse, and said
quietly, "What have you to say about him?"

"Who was it?"

"Haunte."

"So that was Haunte. The news will travel far and wide. He was a
famous man."