A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. She looked in the rear-view mirror. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ5LjI0Ny4xNTkgLSAxMS0wNi0yMDI0IDAxOjMxOjM4IC0gMTY1Njg1MTA5Ng==
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