"Right," said the Master, "I didn't think of her. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. Miss Mary being his only child ’an all, he were in a right pelter. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard.
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