Chapter 7

Most of the spectators had gathered in one or two groups—one a little crowd towards Woking, the other a knot of people in the direction of Chobham. Evidently they shared my mental conflict. There were few near me. One man I approached—he was, I perceived, a neighbour of mine, though I did not know his name—and accosted. But it was scarcely a time for articulate conversation. “What ugly _brutes_!” he said. “Good God! What ugly brutes!” He repeated this over and over again. “Did you see a man in the pit?” I said; but…