Hours, we thought, and still the horses ran.

Now we rode through quieter streets where there were fewer shops and more wooden houses.

Still the horses seemed to have but just started.
I looked over our perch again.

Something made me think of a description I had read of criminals being carried on long journeys in uncomfortable things--like this?
Well, it was strange--this long, long drive, the conveyance, no word of explanation; and all, though going different ways, being packed off together.

We were strangers; the driver knew it.