I.
Murder didn’t mean much to Raven. It was just a new job. You had to be careful. You had to use your brains. It was not a question of hatred. He had only seen the minister once: he had been pointed out to Raven as he walkeddown the new housing estate between the little lit Christmas trees – an old, rathergrubby man without any friends, who was said to love humanity.
The cold wind cuthis face in the wide Continental street. It was a good excuse for turning the collar of his coat well up abovehis mouth. A harelip was a serioushandicap in his profession. It had beenbadly sewn in infancy, so that now the upper lip was twisted and scarred. When you carried about you so easy anidentification you couldn’t help becoming ruthless in your methods.
II.
“You haven’tfailed,” he said.
London had itsroots in her heart; she saw nothing inthe dark countryside. She looked awayfrom it to Mather’s happy face. “You don’tunderstand,” she said, sheltering the ghost for a very short while longer. “I did fail.” But she forgot it herself completelywhen the train drew into London over a great viaduct under which the small,bright shabby streets ran off like the rays of a star with their sweet shops,their Methodist chapels, their messages chalked on the paving stones.
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