Dent
stood still. All these sounds came from one of the dark courts. He had
a passion for music--he could sing a little himself; he found himself
instinctively beating time with his foot, and adjoining in the chorus
with his voice. He stood motionless. Instantly one or two other
wayfarers did likewise. Dent became the nucleus of a little crowd--
each passer-by added to it, all attracted by the voice which rose and
fell, accompanied now and then by the rough choruses, but more often
singing alone.
The crowd outside began to push towards the entrance of the court, and
Dent went with them.
Just inside the court stood a broad-faced, burly-looking woman, holding
a lantern in her hand. She flashed its light on each new-comer, and
Dent felt dazzled for a moment with the strong glare which was turned
upon his face. He thought he heard a chuckle--he was certainly pushed
far into the court. The singing ceased,--a voice said: "Now! now,
Hetty,--yes, it's all right, Hetty." He turned to go away; but, in
what seemed less than an instant, his hands were tied behind him, his
mouth gagged, and he was borne aloft in the arms of several people,
who began to run with him, he did not know where.
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