She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. Aware that not a moment was to be lost, if he meant to render any effectual assistance to the child, he ceased shouting, and defending himself in the best way he could from the attacks of Rowland, by whom he was closely pressed, forced his way, in spite of all opposition, to Davies, and dealt him a blow on the head with such good will that, had it not been for the intervention of the wall, the ruffian must have been prostrated.
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