a minute was snoring.

Jonah finished undressing slowly. As he unlaced his boots, he noticed
a dark patch on one toe. It looked as if he had kicked something wet.
He examined the stain without repugnance, and thought of the bricklayer.

"Serve the cow right," he thought. "'Ope it stiffens 'im!"

Again he examined the patch of blood attentively, wondering if it would
leave a mark on his tan boots, of which he was very proud. Dipping a
piece of rag in water, he washed it off carefully. And, as he rubbed,
the whole scenes passed through his brain in rapid succession--the Angel,
bright and alluring with the sinister gleam of its powerful lamps, the
swaying man in the midst of the Push, the wild-beast chase, and the fallen
body that ceased to struggle as they kicked.

He lit a cigarette and stared at the candle, smiling with the pride of a
good workman at the thought of his plan that had worked so neatly. The
Push was secure, and the blame would fall on the Ivy Street gang, the
terror of Darlington. For a moment he regretted the active part he had
taken in the stoushing, as his hunchback made him conspicuous. He
wondered carelessly what had happened after the Push bolted. These
affairs were so uncertain. Sometimes the victim could limp home, mottled
with bruises; just as often he was taken to the hospital in a cab, and a
magistrate was called in to take down his dying words. In this case the
chances were in favour of the victim recovering, as the Push had been
interrupted in dealing it out through Jonah's excessive caution. Still,
they had no intention of killing the man; they merely wished to teach
him a lesson.