Chapter 48

           Ofallbaddeedsthat,undercoverofthedarkness,hadbeencommittedwithwideLondon’sboundssincenighthungoverit,thatwastheworst.Ofallthehorrorsthatrosewithanillscentuponthemorningair,thatwasthefoulestandmostcruel.

           Thesun—thebrightsun,thatbringsback,notlightalone,butnewlife,andhope,andfreshnesstoman—burstuponthecrowdedcityinclearandradiantglory.Throughcostly-colouredglassandpaper-mendedwindow,throughcathedraldomeandrottencrevice,itsheditsequalray.Itlighteduptheroomwherethemurderedwomanlay.Itdid.Hetriedtoshutitout,butitwouldstreamin.Ifthesighthadbeenaghastlyoneinthedullmorning,whatwasit,now,inallthatbrilliantlight!

           Hehadnotmoved;hehadbeenafraidtostir.Therehadbeenamoanandmotionofthehand;and,withterroraddedtorage,hehadstruckandstruckagain.Oncehethrewarugoverit;butitwasworsetofancytheeyes,andimaginethemmovingtowardshim,thantoseethemglaringupward,asifwatchingthereflectionofthepoolofgorethatquiveredanddancedinthesunlightontheceiling.Hehadpluckeditoffagain.Andtherewasthebody—merefleshandblood,normore—butsuchflesh,andsomuchblood!

           Hestruckalight,kindledafire,andthrusttheclubintoit.Therewashairupontheend,whichblazedandshrunkintoalightcinder,and,caughtbytheair,whirledupthechimney.

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