If, in the hour of death, seeking
immunity from peril, there live men who have trodden down the bodies
of women, beaten them with naked fists, severed arms from their
bleeding hands that held to safety in order that they might find their
own escape; then, surely it is no very wonderful thing for a woman,
threatened with the destruction of all her happiness, to give herself
over to the mad riot of murderous intent that shouts the cry of bloody
revolution through her brain!
In these moments nothing human could have been accounted for in Sally.
In these moments the fire of the enraged animal glittered in her eyes,
the incoherent mutterings of dumb passion vibrated in her breath.
A man passing down through the dark shadows of the alley into the
street, turned and gazed at her. She took no notice. Did not even
see him. The car was just beginning to move out into the traffic.
As it turned, too eager to follow it, she stepped on to the pavement.
Traill's eyes caught her then, saw her begin to quicken her steps,
break even into a run following their tardy progress as they squeezed
a way through the press of other vehicles. He looked out through the
small, square window in the back of the hood and could still see her,
forcing her way through the crowds of people, sometimes jostling them
upon the path, then running in the gutter for the greater freedom
of passage.
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