On the stake at one corner there hung a blue-and-white
streamer. Barton led him across, the overcoat dangling loosely from his
shoulders, and he sat down on a wooden stool. Barton and another man,
both wearing white sweaters, stood beside him. The so-called ring was a
square, twenty feet each way. At the opposite angle was the sinister
figure of the Master, with his red-headed woman and a rough-faced friend
to look after him. At each corner were metal basins, pitchers of water,
and sponges.
During the hubbub and uproar of the entrance Montgomery was too
bewildered to take things in. But now there was a few minutes' delay,
for the referee had lingered behind, and so he looked quietly about him.
It was a sight to haunt him for a lifetime. Wooden seats had been built
in, sloping upwards to the tops of the walls. Above, instead of a
ceiling, a great flight of crows passed slowly across a square of grey
cloud. Right up to the topmost benches the folk were banked--broadcloth
in front, corduroys and fustian behind; faces turned everywhere upon
him. The grey reek of the pipes filled the building, and the air was
pungent with the acrid smell of cheap, strong tobacco. Everywhere among
the human faces were to be seen the heads of the dogs. They growled and
yapped from the back benches.
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