“My, there’s a girl underneath!” she sobbed in a faint American accent.
“There was!” said the taxi-driver bitterly.
“Good God, she’s pinned there!” cried the tall, fair young man.
“George, and on our honeymoon!” sobbed the young lady in the chinchilla coat.
“Come on now, give us room!” said the policeman sharply. “Now then, sir, just help me lift this wheel off the young lady.”
It was the lean young man who was helping the policeman. He had followed Miss Wych. As the tall fair young man and his young wife in the chinchilla coat pressed forward through the crowd, the lean young man looked up at him, and his face was very stern. The tall fair young man looked back with bewildered, wretched eyes.
“Don’t say she’s dead!” he whispered.
“Now, sir,” said the young policeman, “I’ll keep this up while you bring her through sharp as you like. Now!”
The lithe young body was broken and still. The crowd pressed round.
“She’s dead orl right!” said the orange-and-banana merchant.