The unfortunate carpenter struggled violently, but ineffectually. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. “Hello, John. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination.
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