The
little babies, sporting in their carriages before some houses, leaned
forward and looked as wise and awful as doctors in some occult
diagnosis. Cartwheels, as they struck hard, articulated, "What, out!
Boo! boohoo!" Sunshine all slanted her way. Hucksters' cries sounded
like constables' proclamation: "Oyez! oyez!"
With the perceptions, the reflections of Agnes were also startlingly
alert. She seemed two or three unfortunate people at once. Now it was
Lady Jane Grey going to the tower. Now it was Beatrice Cenci going to
torture. Now it was Mary Magdalene going to the cross. At almost every
house she felt a kindness speak for her, except mankind; a recollection
of nursing, comforting, praying with some one, but all forgotten now.
"_Via Crucia, Via Crucia_," her thorn-torn feet seemed to patter in the
echoes of her ears and mind, and there arose upon her spirit the
sternest curse of women, direful with God's own rage, "I will greatly
multiply thy sorrow and thy conception."
Thus she reached the magistrate's little office, around the door of
which was a little crowd of people, and Duff Salter led her in the
private door to the residence itself. A cup of tea and a decanter of
wine were on the table. The magistrate's wife knew her, and kissed her.
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