"Now's your time," cried Blueskin, struggling desperately with his assailants and inflicting severe cuts with his knife. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. ‘But what will happen to Lucia? Are we to kill her?’ ‘Of course not. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Clergymen were human.
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