Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. ’ ‘Woof!’ uttered the sergeant, jumping back. She hated the manor. Wood, by whom it was formerly occupied. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. His frowning gaze came back to her. Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident.
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