When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. But, after all, it will be different. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight.
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