“Of course this has nothing to do with me: I have to obey orders, no matter what they are,” said the young officer, half apologising.
Somers just looked at him, but did not answer. His face was pale and still and distant, unconscious that the other people were real human beings. To him they were not: they were just things, obeying orders. And his eyes showed that. The young officer wanted to get out.
At last it was over: the louts had collected a very few trifles. The officer saw them on to the road, bade them good-morning, and got out of the house as quick as he could.
“Good-morning, sir! Good-morning, mam!” said the police-sergeant in tones of sympathy.
Yes, it was over. Harriet and Lovat looked at one another in silent consternation.
“Well, we must just go,” she said.
“Oh, yes,” he replied.
And she studied the insolent notice to quit the area of Cornwall. In her heart of hearts she was not sorry to quit it. It had become too painful.
In a minute up came one of the farm girls to hear the news: then later Somers went down. Arthur, the boy, had heard the officer say to the police-sergeant as he went up the hill:
“Well, that’s a job I’d rather not have had to do.”