They dared to think they could get me to bed. They found me, not a girl—more a wild animal!
Out, out I must go.
The outward struggle was matched by the one in my mind. Where should I go? To whom? There must be somebody who would care. Somebody who had Power to give effect to caring. Wildly my ignorance cast about. Who had Power?
The King—yes; and surely the Queen would "care." But who was I to reach the Queen? Her sentinels and servants would thrust me out. All my crying would never reach the Queen. Then, the only thing that was left was for me to go out and cry the horror in the street.
They held the door while they told me there had been telephoning back and forth. And someone had already gone to Alton Street.
"Is that where Betty is?"
No. Alton Street was the nearest police-station. The person who had been sent there had not yet come back.
Then I, too, must go to Alton Street to learn what they were doing.
The power of the police still loomed immense. At Alton Street I would hear they had already found Betty. She might even be there at this moment....