When the local press was shaken in his face, the vicar's hireling, a canny, weather-beaten Yorkshireman, merely replied with a twist of the mouth, 'Aye, aye, th' newspapers talk--there'd be soombody goin hoongry if they didn't;' or--' Them 'at has to eat th' egg knaws best whether it is addled or no--to my thinkin,' and so on through a string of similar aphorisms which finally demolished his antagonist.
David meanwhile was burning to be in the fray.

He thought of some fine Miltonic sayings to hurl at the sexton, but for the life of him he could not get them out.

In the presence of that indifferent, sharp-faced crowd of townspeople his throat grew hot and dry whenever he thought of speaking.
While the Bradford party struggled out of the church, David, having somehow got parted from the woman who had brought him in, lingered behind, before that plain tablet on the wall, whereat the crowd which had just gone out had been worshipping.
EMILY, aged 29.
ANNE, aged 27.
CHARLOTTE, in the 39th year of her age.
The church had grown suddenly quite still.

The sexton was outside, engaged in turning back a group of Americans, on the plea that visiting hours were over for the day.

Through the wide-open door the fading yellow light streamed in, and with it a cool wind which chased little eddies of dust about the pavement.