Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. ‘What if she does not agree? Could she reveal us, damage us amongst our peers? Are you certain that we should not kill her?’ He asked. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house.
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