Green like the Black Bishop's ring.... Lying there, afterwards, until the orange had faded and the sky, deserted by the sun, was milk-white. The mists descended. The Cathedral chimes struck five. February night, cold, smoke-misted, enwrapped the town.
At a quarter to five Evensong was over and Cobbett was putting out the candles in the choir. Two figures slowly passed down the darkening nave.
Outside the west door they paused, gazing at the splendour of the fiery sky.
"It's cold, but there'll be stars," Ronder said.
Stars. Cold. Brandon shivered. Something was wrong with him. His heart had clap-clapped during the Anthem as though a cart with heavy wheels had rumbled there. He looked suspiciously at Ronder. He did not like the man, confidently standing there addressing the sky as though he owned it. He would have liked the sunset for himself.
"Well, good-night, Canon," brusquely. He moved away.
But Ronder followed him.
"One moment, Archdeacon.... Excuse me.... I have been wanting an opportunity...."
Brandon paused. The man was nervous. Brandon liked that.