She heard it open, but as she felt unable to look round in a careless manner she pretended not to hear it. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. She had agonized over it for weeks. The man is a stranger to me. When he returned, it was always the same. She had found that proof. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners.
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