Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running
incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she
was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one
would use in driving ducks out of a garden--"B-r-r-r-r-r--!" and
pawing with black-gloved hands. The policemen were closing in
from the sides to intervene. The little old lady struck like a
projectile upon the resounding chest of the foremost of these,
and then Ann Veronica had got past and was ascending the steps.
Then most horribly she was clasped about the waist from behind
and lifted from the ground.
At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of
wild disgust and terror. She had never experienced anything so
disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly
off her feet. She screamed involuntarily--she had never in her
life screamed before --and then she began to wriggle and fight
like a frightened animal against the men who were holding her.
The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of
violence and disgust. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one
eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. She felt she must
suffocate if these men did not put her down, and for a time they
would not put her down. Then with an indescribable relief her
feet were on the pavement, and she was being urged along by two
policemen, who were gripping her wrists in an irresistible expert
manner. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found
herself gasping with passionate violence, "It's
damnable!--damnable!" to the manifest disgust of the fatherly
policeman on her right.
Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away.
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