If Mr.Wembley would but come in and pray!" Her husband scoffed.

He was dressed only in his shirt and trousers, his hair rough, his braces hanging down behind.
"Come in and pray!" he repeated.

"Not he! Not Mr.Wembley! He's safe tucked up in his bed, shivering with fear, I'll bet you.

He's not getting his feet wet to save a body or lend a hand here.

Souls are his job.