Something of his impatience had communicated itself to John, mastering even his abhorrence. He wanted furiously to get the thing done. It was he now who seized the recalcitrant arm and thrust it into the sack; it was he who fiercely pulled the sack over Emily’s head, and hid at last that puffy and appalling face with a long “Ah‑h” of relief. At the mouth of the sack was a fortunate piece of cord, threaded through a circle of ragged holes.

John Egerton pulled it tight and fumbled at the making of a knot. He felt vaguely that something special in the way of knots was required⁠—a bowline⁠—a reef knot or something⁠—not a “granny,” anyhow. How was it you tied a reef knot? Dimly remembered instructions came to him⁠—“the same string over both times”⁠—or “under,” wasn’t it?

Stephen crouched at his side, dazedly watching his mobile fingers muddling with the cord.