W. Pett Ridge

“ Once, when she rattled a dreary, empty automatic machine, he jumped up, and shouted, "’Ands off there, can't you!" with such volume that the little station echoed it, and quite a dozen people seemed to be warning Mord Em'ly. An hour went by. Meal-time at the Home brought with it a feeling of hunger.
"Young man!" called Mord Em'ly.
"Now begin asting questions again," said the office-boy gloomily. "You passengers are enough to make a chap apply for his superannuation." ”

“ The office-boy's contempt for the small passenger vanished on hearing this. His manner changed so much that he offered Mord Em'ly one-half of a huge meat pasty that was warming itself near the stove, and, filling a tumbler from the filter in the corner of the outer office, recommended her to go into the tiny waiting-room.
"You feed your face in there," said the office boy, "whilst I get on with my abstract. Talking to you isn't performing duties what the company pays me for." ”

“ She knew that, as yet, nobody was attempting to pursue her, but she made up her mind to imagine that everybody in the Home was already out; that the alarm had been sounded, and that twenty-five bloodhounds strained at the leathern cords which held them in their desire to reach her. ”