Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. "You want me, then?" she said. And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. I always fall on my feet, you know. . “Why come after me after all these years, Sebastianus? Haven’t you found any sycophants to convert, any nubile young nymphets to bring into the cannibal flock?” “Why should I do that if there is still the chance of you?” “What if there could be no chance of me? How do you know you can have me?” “I see your game. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter.
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