— — —“I am glad,” thought Belle, “that I didn’t have to identify the body. I don’t suppose poor Daisy looks very pretty by now.”
She had been maliciously pleased to see how downcast and sick the members of the jury looked when they filed back to their places, after having returned through the brown varnished door that concealed the room where Daisy Arrow lay — “smug, respectable, selfish people, all of them,” thought Belle. “It will do them good to hear of this kind of thing — it will do them good to see this kind of thing — indeed, it will.”
Mrs. Bulke’s evil eyes, hard and sullen, had identified Daisy Arrow; a cockney young man, awkward and ashamed in a tight blue coat with brass buttons, who kept twisting his cap round and round in his hands, a much younger brother, who had not seen h
