” Lucy looked at the small shelf which was jammed with thick paperbacks by every major horror novelist of the twentieth century. A door led to the inner room; and it was evident from the peals of merriment, and other noises, that, ever and anon, resounded from within, that this chamber was occupied by the Marquis and his friends. ’ ‘For God’s sake,’ protested his junior. . “Why come after me after all these years, Sebastianus? Haven’t you found any sycophants to convert, any nubile young nymphets to bring into the cannibal flock?” “Why should I do that if there is still the chance of you?” “What if there could be no chance of me? How do you know you can have me?” “I see your game. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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