With heaven knows what
feelings, she found herself seated beside me, Sophy Smith, while
Alicia, beside the doctor, tossed gay remarks over her shoulder.
Miss Hopkins realized that all Hyndsville would witness what she
herself knew to be high-handed capture by force, but which must
hideously resemble capitulation; and she also realized that
explanations never explain.
I respected her misery enough to keep silent, and she made no
attempt to converse. Her hat slid forward at a rakish angle over one
ear, and her hair blew about her face in stringy wisps, as the
doctor broke the speed laws on the long, level stretches of quiet
roads. When we came to a rough spot she bounced up and down (one
might hear her breath exhaled in a--well, yes, in a grunt) but she
made no complaint, uttered no protest. She was a shackled and
voiceless victim, until we finally drew up at her own gate, after an
hour's jaunt, and allowed her to escape.
"Why, Martha, our little spin has given you a fine color!" remarked
the doctor, genuinely pleased. Two conspicuously red spots shone in
Miss Hopkins's cheeks, and her eyes were extremely bright. "We'll
have to take you out with us again," he added, genially.
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