Hanged and dead on a rope in church, Lingham spun.
Oswell looked over at Quinlan, who stared up at the twisting corpse with satisfaction—though no joy—upon his misshapen face. Alphonse walked over to the toppled ladder, dragged it two yards to the left, and erected it beneath the second noose while Beatrice’s ugly sobs resounded.
The Taylors and a few other people from side two who lived nearby entered the church with suitcases, sacks, and bundles that they promptly dumped into the empty trunk. Each person glanced at the hanged man for a brief moment, but said nothing.
The talker looked over at Quinlan and inquired, “Who do we string up next?”
“Godfrey.”
A terrible chill crawled down Oswell’s spine, and his guts knotted. For certain he knew that he could not watch his brother climb th
