The heroic soul was quenched for the moment. He was flesh distraught—no more.
A flask of brandy was on the window-sill. The Parson poured from it into a glass and gave it him.
Knapp revived.
The Parson took down the shutters, and the evening light streamed in, calm and healing.
"Take your time," said the Parson gently. "Tell us what you can when you can."
Knapp sipped his brandy.
"It was the knives—when they closed. That done me up. Ow, my God!" He shuddered. "If it hadn't been for the Genelman."
"Yes?" said Kit eagerly.
A glow lit the man's eye. The yellow of his cheek flushed ever so faintly.
"I'd die for im," he said, "only he's died for me—what pull his nose and all."