The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. "He does," replied Kneebone, "and, what is more surprising, it seems to increase. Her orgasm began as an insistent throb. A day will come when you will thank me. Obeying some fine instinct, she had come to the prison in a dark veil, but she had pushed this up to kiss Ann Veronica and never drawn it down again.
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