that she suffers. It is an entire abnegation of self. It was so in
this matter with Sally.

"I'm quite sure," she replied, as she held, with tightening hands
and knuckles white, upon the window-sill.

CHAPTER XVI

The two men emerged from the shed where they had put away their coats.
They were stripped to the waist. The couple of lamps that the yard
provided, lit up their skin--sickly yellow--and the surrounding
houses flung shadows in confusion.

"They'll have a job to hit straight," said Traill, tensely. His eyes
were riveted before him. He did not look at her, did not see her white,
drawn face. She raised her head, gazing at the black, leaden patch
of sky that was to be seen through the muddle of roofs and walls.
A wondering crossed her mind of all the horrible sights and scenes
that were being enacted under that same impenetrable curtain of
darkness which hung over everything. She rubbed her hand across her
eyes, but could not wipe it out.

When she looked back again, the men were surrounded by their little
groups of supporters--not more than half a dozen in each party. All
but the two combatants were talking in excited undertones--giving
advice--saying what they would do--standing on tiptoe and talking
over each other's shoulders--pushing those away who came between
them and the expression of their own opinions. And in the centre of
each of these groups stood the two who were about to be at each other's
throats. Except for their bared shoulders, dazzling patches of light
against the dark clothes of the men surrounding them--they looked
the least aggressive in the crowd. 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