Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. The occasion of all this confusion and dismay, meanwhile, remained perfectly motionless; his figure erect, and with somewhat of dignity in his demeanour. She almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel. "We shall be obliged to force it.
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