He laid his hand on the lady's left arm and unconsciously
closed his fingers firmly over the flesh, while, in a low voice, he
said to her:
"Look there!"
The lady of the feathers stopped crying abruptly, as if her tears were
suddenly frozen at their source.
"Where, dearie?" she said jerkily. "Whatever do you mean?"
"There where the cups are hung up. Don't you see anything?"
But the lady was looking at him, and she now dropped her cup with a crash
to the pavement.
"There's a go," said the sharp-featured youth. "You're a nice one, you
are!"
Without regarding his protest, the lady violently wrenched her arm from
Julian's grasp and recoiled from the stall.
"Le-go my arm," she babbled hysterically. "Le-go, I say. I can't stand
any more--no, I can't."
"I'm not going to hurt you," said Julian, astonished at her outburst.
But she only repeated vehemently:
"Let go, let me go!"
Backing away, she trod the fallen coffee-cup to fragments on the
pavement, and began to drift down Piccadilly, her face under the
feathers set so completely round over her shoulder, in observation of
Julian, that she seemed to be promenading backwards. And as she went
she uttered deplorable wailing sounds, which gradually increased in
volume.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154