Sextons must not be in a hurry.

After a while I found out why he chafed: he wanted to smoke.

He fumbled his pipe and scraped his boots upon the stones.

I studied the monuments with a scrutiny that grew more and more minute and elaborate; and soon his matches were in his hand.

I wanted to tell him that if I were the only obstacle he might smoke to his heart's content, but it seemed to be more amusing to watch and wait.