"Get ready the irons, Caliban. Forster? News is expected from Northumberland. It was a grand life. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Most of my people are upstairs dressing for dinner. ‘Gerald Alderley, I don’t know what you deserve. They found out Cris had some sort of criminal past, more child abuse stuff of course. I was certain of it. Remember! not a word!" So saying, he huddled the mantle over Wood's shoulders, dashed the lantern to the ground, and extinguished the light.
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