She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. In fact, one of them was downright sceptical. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. The Procession to Tyburn. ” Part 2 Then it was the expostulations really began. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view.
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