Philip turned around and faced the mob.

He raised his voice, hoping to gain a hearing and reason with it.

But he might as well have raised his voice against a tornado.

Some one threw a handful of mud and snow toward the prisoner.
In an instant every hand reached for the nearest missile, and a shower of stones, muddy snow-balls and limbs torn from the trees on the lawn was rained upon the house.

Most of the windows in the lower story were broken.