She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. He’s been near it once or twice already. ” He played it cool, but he had seen it in her face. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. They mean something.
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