In the grim chares of late 18c Newcastle
‘Aye, I’m a thief. I’m a thief,’ she screamed hysterically. ‘Please take me ti prison. Ye must.’
The watchman’s face, all pitted with tiny craters, scrunched into an expression of bafflement, showing the few remaining black stumps in his mouth. He laughed, splattering the girl with his malodorous breath. But before he had time to ask another question his head was jerked backwards stretching his skin tightly over his Adam’s apple. Becky caught sight of the man’s eyes, terrified and mad-staring like a cow’s at slaughter, then the glint of a knife as it slit his throat.