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.