The villain had removed his stocking mask and Angus thought what a pathetic looking individual had been hiding beneath it. His eyes stared ahead into nothing and he somehow seemed resigned to the fact that he was going to die a horrible death. His face was a mask of terror, his eyes huge and his skin taut. A voice behind Angus sounded. “Kill the bastard,” and the words were copied by the others who turned it into a chilling chant. By now these normally placid men had been worked up into a frenzy by the course of events. They hungered for revenge. “Kill him” “Murdering bastard.” “Kill him.” An old man of about sixty-five took the initiative. He leapt forward, and the knife in his hand slashed across the villain’s forehead, leaving a thin line of blood. The stranger rolled on his side and suddenly the others closed in. They began to kick him and stab him. “That one is for Anna,” one man yelled. “And that one is for Ross,” said another. The kicking and stabbing continued.
