It had received the news of Sibyl Vane's death before he had known of it himself.

It was conscious of the events of life as they occurred.

The vicious cruelty that marred the fine lines of the mouth had, no doubt, appeared at the very moment that the girl had drunk the poison, whatever it was.

Or was it indifferent to results?
Did it merely take cognizance of what passed within the soul?
He wondered, and hoped that some day he would see the change taking place before his very eyes, shuddering as he hoped it.
Poor Sibyl! What a romance it had all been! She had often mimicked death on the stage.

Then Death himself had touched her and taken her with him.