The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. . ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another.
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