I ran to the window, afraid of what I should see. At first I could not understand what terrible thing had happened
there. Was it possible, I wondered, for a person to explode? There was blood everywhere. Then I recognized the body as the woman who I had seen drinking and talking with Sherlock Holmes. He was still with her, bur he was not dead. No, much worse than dead. He was alive. He had a knife in his hand, and he was cutting up her face and her body. Even as I watched, he was carefully cutting the leg down to the bone, taking off a long piece of meat in his other hand