Her eyes alone moved under their half-drooped lids; her right hand clutched tightly the handle of her stick.

The speaker's voice rose in shrill protest against the exploitation of 'the people'; it sank in ironical comment on Christianity; it demanded passionately to be free from the continuous burden of 'this insensate militarist taxation'; it threatened that the people would take things info their own hands.
Lady Casterley turned her head: "He is talking nonsense, Clifton.

It is going to rain.

I shall go in." Under the stone porch she paused.

The purple cloud had broken; a blind fury of rain was deluging the fast-scattering crowd.