Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. “Oh, you can act!” she cried. He became angry. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. . ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. ‘I told you I could handle her. I’m not ashamed—of the things I’m doing.
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