He thought only of Miranda, wondering why he saw her now at a distance.
A company of roughs lay between Peter and his friends. He was cut off; but it did not seem to matter. Everything that morning was unreal. He walked quite indifferently towards them. They seemed so remote that, had they vanished into air, he would not have been surprised.
Peter pushed loftily past a handsome young rough.
"Now then," said the fellow.
"Let me pass," said Peter, curiously pedantic beside the other.
"Not so fast."
"Let go of my arm," said Peter.
"Not much," said the enemy.
Peter flew into a rage.