“It was all in His hands now - as it had always been.”

“His hands had been reddened, as all men's hands have been, in the slaying before the foundation of the world; now, if he chose, he would dip them again in the same blood. 'Mercy,' he groaned...”

“So it was the hand that started it all . . . His hands had been infected, and soon it would be his arms . . . His hands were ravenous.”

“His hand still rested on her breast, but his fingers had stilled. The touch that had been so agitating now felt comforting. As though he soothed her by it.”

“When we were young his hands had been soft but now they were a man's hands, with rough palms and coarse fingertips, but they were still as careful as ever.”

“The manner of his life was of no importance. What affected her was that he had once been young. That he had grown old, and was now dead. That was all. Youth and vigour had come to that. Youth and vigour always came to that. Everything came to that.”