And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. He drew a little breath and stepped back. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. “You see, I will take your arm. ” Drummond shook his head in melancholy fashion. But this calm was more awful than the previous roaring of the blast. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort.
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