She seemed to know all about them and about me, too. An eerie feeling came over me. She seemed uncanny and fateful.

     Often far away there I thought of these two, guarding the door of Darkness, knitting black wool as for a warm pall, one introducing, introducing continuously to the unknown, the other scrutinizing the cheery and foolish faces with unconcerned old eyes. Ave! Old knitter of black wool. Morituri te salutant. Not many of those she looked at ever saw her again -- not half, by a long way.