"Yes, and I believe you do. That's why--but to go on with what we were
saying. You've got a long sight into things. Now, living generally, as
you do, here in London, don't you think that men and women living in
crowds often get off the line of truth and kindness? Don't you think
that being all together, backed up, as it were, by each other--as a
soldier is by his regiment when going into battle--they often become
hard, brutal, almost get the blood-lust into them at times?"

Isaacson did not reply for a moment.

"Perhaps sometimes they do," he answered at last.

"And don't you think they require sacrifices?"

"Do you mean human sacrifices?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps--sometimes."

"Why have you never been to call on Mrs. Chepstow?"

Again the sallow fingers began to play with the book-covers, passing
from one to another, but always slowly and gently.

"I haven't much time for seeing any one, except my patients, and the
people I meet in society."

"And of course you never meet Mrs. Chepstow in society."