‘I am not a person, Marthe. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking alone with this gentleman. Everything was blurred. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. Stanley and his sister into a taxicab, and had waved an amiable farewell from the pavement steps.
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