Brendan Bracken swung
his legs off the desk and strode over to a small wooden window. “Out there on Tower Green, Sorbay. Henry VIII’s wives
and various others. Axes were blunt, executioners nervous or drunk. Took 11 blows to get
rid of one old lady, barbaric, I’d say. Hanging, these days, is much more
humane. All over in an instant.” Sowerbutt shuddered: “Firing
squad for me, you’d say, if I step out of line?” He hadn’t missed the guardsman with rifle and fixed bayonet, outside the Governor’s office as he was
shown in.
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