” “My name is Pellissier,” Anna said, “Anna Pellissier. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. A few days ago I saw him leave your house. I don’t defend it. " "That's what troubles me," rejoined Ben. "What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound.
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