The night above was silent, dim.

There was no wind.

In the near distance they could hear the panting of some engine at the colliery.
"Shall we light them as we fix them," asked Robert, "or save them for one grand rocket at the end ?" "Oh, as we do them," said Cyril Scott, who had lacerated his fingers and wanted to see some reward.
A match spluttered.

One naked little flame sprang alight among the dark foliage.

The candle burned tremulously, naked.