Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. Meanwhile, she was spirited away from John and bombarded by half-familiar people who attempted to chat with her above the roar of the crowd. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. Considering his convictions he felt that his remark was a generous one. She kicked him in the shin, trying to knock him off his feet. Kneebone. He was accompanied by Ireton and Austin. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. “John, don’t!” she cried. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs.
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