The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. Not a star could be discerned, but, in their stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the ominous and threatening appearance of the night. It reminded Ann Veronica of having a tooth stopped. “I’ve been looking out for you,” he said.
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