As he placed the pillow down on her thin nose and small mouth, her eyes snapped open.

‘You know what I told him, Helma?” He felt her struggle against him.

‘There was a crooked man who walked a crooked mile. He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile.’

The strength in him surged, as did the pure joy from feeling the widow’s fight intensify beneath him.

‘He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,’ he continued, experiencing the thrill. The nursery rhyme seemed to further infuriate his victim, whose brittle fingers clawed at his hands.

‘And they all lived together…’ Her eyes bore through him, full of anger, not fright as he had expected. Surprised by her resistance, he leaned down and put his mouth close to her ear. ‘In a crooked little house.’