Scout shrinks, hugging his knees and looking away. “I dunno if I did the right thing at important moments. I killed a lot of people. And then I let someone go when I was supposed to kill her. So either way, if God wanted me to kill or not, I was going to hell. Because I’m bad.”

His hand shakes as he sucks on his cigarette. The coat Stab hides under shifts. One little hand emerges from the coat… and then sticks a middle finger to the sky.

“Stab’s right,” Gavroche says, gesturing broadly in his direction. “I’d happily tell God where to stick it if he says you’re bad. Fat good he was helping anyone. The Queen’s a better god anyway.”