People were shouting and running. A man with a raucous, alcoholic voice,
yelled words Annesley could not catch. A woman gave a squeaking scream
that sounded both ridiculous and dreadful. Breaking glass crashed. A
growl of human anger mingled with the roar of motor-omnibuses, and Miss
Grayle fell back from it as from a slammed door in a high wall.
As she stood hesitating what to do and wondering if there were a fire or
a murder, two women, laughing hysterically, rushed past into the hotel
court.
"Hurry up," panted one of them. "They'll think we belong to the gang.
Let's go into the hotel and stay until it's over."
"Oh, what is it?" Annesley entreated, running after the couple.
"Burglars at a jeweller's window close by--there are women--they're being
arrested," one of the pair flung over her shoulder, as both hurried on.
"'Women ... being arrested ...'" That meant that if she plunged into the
fray she might be mistaken for a woman burglar, and arrested with the
guilty. Even if she lurked where she was, a prowling policeman might
suppose she sought concealment, and bag her as a militant.
Imagine what Mrs.
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