’ The eyes flashed momentarily. " "Footsteps are approaching," cried Thames. "So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her.
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