Irene was the night-hawk, and I was the writhing mouse that fed its appetite.

Doubtless it was decreed that the owl must be and the mouse must be, but beyond them both, hidden in those blue heavens, stood that Justice which we call God.
These were the last things that I saw in this life of mine, and therefore I remember them well, or rather, almost the last.

The very last of which I took note was Irene's face.

It had grown like to that of a devil.

The great eyes in it stared out between the puffed and purple eyelids.