She sat rigidly erect in the chair with two dirty pink pieces of paper lying spread out at her feet.

The palms of her hands were pressed convulsively to her face, with the tips of the fingers contracted against the forehead, as though the skin had been a mask which she was ready to tear off violently.

The perfect immobility of her pose expressed the agitation of rage and despair, all the potential violence of tragic passions, better than any shallow display of shrieks, with the beating of a distracted head against the walls, could have done.

Chief Inspector Heat, crossing the shop at his busy, swinging pace, gave her only a cursory glance.

And when the cracked bell ceased to tremble on its curved ribbon of steel nothing stirred near Mrs Verloc, as if her attitude had the locking power of a spell.