What good were men like that in these days! What good! The prisoner
looked up. Mr. Bosengate encountered in full the gaze of those large
brown eyes, with the white showing underneath. What a suffering,
wretched, pitiful face! A man had no business to give you a look
like that! The prisoner passed on down the stairs, and vanished. Mr.
Bosengate went out and across the market place to the garage of the
hotel where he had left his car. The sun shone fiercely and he thought:
'I must do some watering in the garden.' He brought the car out, and
was about to start the engine, when someone passing said: "Good evenin'.
Seedy-lookin' beggar that last prisoner, ain't he? We don't want men of
that stamp." It was his neighbour on the jury, the commercial traveller,
in a straw hat, with a little brown bag already in his hand and the
froth of an interrupted drink on his moustache. Answering curtly: "Good
evening!" and thinking: 'Nor of yours, my friend!' Mr. Bosengate started
the car with unnecessary clamour. But as if brought back to life by the
commercial traveller's remark, the prisoner's figure seemed to speed
along too, turning up at Mr. Bosengate his pitifully unhappy eyes.
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