17/17 The very noises of the streets seemed muffled and subdued; and the air came stale and hot upon him, like the sickly breath of an oven. Heads erect, shoulders square, every man stepping in exact time--all so orderly and regular--nobody looking at him--nobody seeming conscious of his presence,--he could hardly believe he was a Prisoner. But at the word, though only thought, not spoken, he felt the handcuffs galling his wrists, the cord pressing his arms to his sides: the loaded guns levelled at his head; and those cold, bright, sharp, shining points turned towards him: the mere looking down at which, now that he was bound and helpless, made the warm current of his life run cold.. |