All the daintiness and youth had fled, and passion was beating the air--terrible, savage passion, which belonged neither to day nor night, life nor death, but to the half-world between them.

I suddenly felt the dancers as monstrous, inhuman, devilish.

The thick scents that floated from the brazier seemed to have a tang of new-shed blood.

Cries broke from the hearers--cries of anger and lust and terror.

I heard a woman sob, and Peter, who is as tough as any mortal, took tight hold of my arm.
I now realized that these Companions of the Rosy Hours were the only thing in the world to fear.