Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. And now YOU’RE on the war-path. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. She had been forced to buy herself that pair of boots and a walking-skirt, and the pearl necklace at the pawnbrokers’ had yielded very disappointingly.
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