"Speak, Lord," she said softly, but
as if she spoke to Something whose
nearness to her was such that her
hand might have touched it. "Speak,
Lord, thy servant 'eareth."
Antony Dart almost felt his hair
rise. He quaked as she came near,
her poor clothes brushing against
him. He drew back to let her pass
first, and followed her leading.
The court was filled with men,
women, and children, who surged
about the doorway, talking, crying,
and protesting against each other's
crowding. Dart caught a glimpse
of a policeman fighting his way
through with a doctor. A dishevelled
woman with a child at her
dirty, bare breast had got in and was
talking loudly.
"Just outside the court it was,"
she proclaimed, "an' I saw it. If
she'd bin 'erself it couldn't 'ave
'appened. `No time for 'osspitles,'
ses I. She's not twenty breaths to
dror; let 'er die in 'er own bed, pore
thing!" And both she and her baby
breaking into wails at one and the
same time, other women, some hysteric,
some maudlin with gin, joined
them in a terrified outburst.
"Get out, you women," commanded
the doctor, who had forced
his way across the threshold. "Send
them away, officer," to the policeman.
There were others to turn out of
the room itself, which was crowded
with morbid or terrified creatures,
all making for confusion. Glad had
seized the child and was forcing her
way out into such air as there was
outside.
The bed--a strange and loathly
thing--stood by the empty, rusty
fireplace.
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