They could no longer stay in one place. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. For a moment none of them stirred; then slowly Enschede turned away. He had, however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these.
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