r streets the music blazed with sound and fury of determination,
urging them on, inspiring them with indomitable energy, inexorable
progress. The tops of the houses here seemed to converge, blotting out
the sky; and Jenny felt that she was stationary, while they moved on
like the landscape of a cinematograph. As the procession swept into
Trafalgar Square with its great open space of London sky, the music
unconfined achieved a more poignant appeal and infected the mass of
arduous women with sentiment, making their temper the more dangerous.
The procession became a pilgrimage to some abstract nobility, to no set
place. Jenny was now bewitched by the steady motion into an almost
complete unconsciousness of the gaping sightseers, thought of them, if
she thought of them at all, as figures in a fair-booth to be knocked
carelessly backwards as she passed, more vital than they were with their
painted grins.

In Whitehall the air was again charged with anger. The tall banners far
ahead floated on airs of victory. The mounted women rode like
conquerors. Then for an instant as Jenny heard from one of the
pavement-watchers a coarse and mocking comment on the demonstration, she
thought the whole business mere matter for ridicule and recalled the
circus processions that flaunted through towns on sunny seaside holiday
mornings long ago. Soon, however, the tune reestablished itself in her
brain, and once more she swept on to the noble achievement. The houses
grew taller than ever; faded into remote mists; quaked and shimmered as
if to a fall. Far down the line above the brass and drums was a sound of
screaming, a dull mutter of revolution, a wave of execration and
encouragement. The procession stopped dead: the music ceased in
discords. Two or three of the women fainted. The crowd on either side
suddenly came to life and pressed forward with hot, inquisitive breath.
Somewhere, a long way off, a leader shrieked, "Forward." Policemen were
conjured from the quivering throng. Somebody tore off Jenny's sash.
Somebody trod on her foot. The confusion increased. Nothing was left of
any procession: everyone was pushing, yelling, groaning, scratching,
struggling in a wreck of passions. Jenny was cut off from the
disorganized main body, was helpless in a mob of men. The police were
behaving with that magnificent want of discrimination which
characterizes their behavior in a crisis of disorder. Their tactics were
justified by success, and as they