There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. All in a moment. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears.
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