Trian’s so close now, within arm’s reach of the hatchet. He could snatch it up in half a second. The Prior’s face is shining like an angel’s. Trian shuts his eyes and drops to his knees. But still he sees that triumphant smile, and still he wants to kill the man. He hits his own chest so hard he winds himself. To long to do murder, to savour it in your heart, that’s nearly as bad as to do it. Trian’s in mortal sin and he can’t escape. He batters himself again and again.