It seemed to Clarice as she gazed down that all the seven thousand electors had gathered to hear the result announced.

The street was paved with heads as with black cobble-stones.

Occasionally some one would look up and direct now a cheer, now a shout of derision towards the 'Three Nuns' or the 'Yellow Boar.' But the rooms of both candidates were darkened, and the attention of the crowd was for the most part riveted upon the red blinds of the Town Hall.
For Clarice, the time limped by on crutches.

She barely heard the desultory conversation about her: she felt as if her life was beating itself out against those red windows.

A clock in the market-place chimed the hour of nine: she counted the strokes, with a sense of wonder when they stopped.