Chapter 31

The small man had managed to sleep fitfully, despite his injuries. He’d woken up late in the morning and set about the painful business of bathing his wounds and rubbing ointment into his bruises. His mouth was particularly painful. He screwed up the courage to examine it in his spotty mirror and was horrified at what he saw. His lower lip had burgeoned like a bud bursting from its calyx. It was an exotic but unlovely mixture of red and purple. The small man wanted to cry.

He’d have to get on with the job, and do it today if he could, before they lost patience and came after him again. Distraught, he poked among the bundle of rags on the floor which were all that was left of his clothes. Somehow he’d have to patch them up, dust them down, make himself presentable. He set to work.