Brown strode to center stage and Lucy quieted the instruments with a gesture. 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. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. "Because they're in the next room, and the door's shut; that's vy, my jack-adandy!" replied Abraham, unsuspiciously. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world.
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