Mrs.
Bunting always visioned The Avenger as a black shadow in the centre a bright blinding light--but the shadow had no form or definite substance.

Sometimes he looked like one thing, sometimes like another.

.

.
Mrs.Bunting had now come to the corner which led up the street where there was a Post Office.

But instead of turning sharp to the left she stopped short for a minute.
There had suddenly come over her a feeling of horrible self-rebuke and even self-loathing.