Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. She shook her head, almost breaking a smile. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. My nerves are shaken. The arrested women were herded in a passage of the Panton Street Police-station that opened upon a cell too unclean for occupation, and most of them spent the night standing. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. “I’m not gentle.
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