‘It is not your affair. Too busy. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. The lines about his mouth gradually softened. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. “I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea. She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful.
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