“No, Lucy, because Satan does not exist. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. " "I don't know," said the doctor, dubiously. There was a fourth story; but he never told either Ruth or McClintock about this. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands.
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