They said nothing. Their heads
bent forward listening to the medley of voices that hummed
unintelligibly in their ears, and their eyes roamed from one face
to another, or through the clustering of heads to the other crowd
beyond.
"Told you they'd be funked by all this ceremony," said Traill.
"They're beginning to wish it was over, I should think. Hang it, why
don't they begin? They'll get so cold it'll be like beating frozen
meat."
Sally looked at him in amazement. All the hardness, all the cruelty,
she saw then. But it did not succeed in turning her from him. She
stood wondering at her own passive consent, yet could not bring
herself to risk his offence by declaring that she would not stay.
Of his selfishness, she saw nothing. Had his attitude in the affair
been pointed out to her as frankly inconsiderate, she would have
denied it with fervour. Inconsiderate? It was only her weakness of
spirit. Why should he be blamed for that? If she loathed the sight
of what was taking place before her, then just as surely he revelled
in it. Why should he be expected to give way to her? She would give
way to him--willingly--freely--without question or doubt.
Now, as she looked again, a man had stepped out of the crowd holding
a watch in his hand.
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