Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. The one through which she had come and Gosse had entered behind her. “What do you think of them?” Anna extended her critical survey and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept.
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