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Sairson shouldered his way through the streets, sullen and defiant, as if the whole world were pointing the finger of scorn at him. He pushed defiantly along the pavement, not unmindful of the glances cast in his direction. He had never been popular here, or elsewhere, but there was an added hostility now, for the name of Blaydon was feared and execrated from one end of the country to the other. Everybody knew of the identity of the Sairson and Blaydon. A group of workmen jeered as he passed, and a boy yelled at him impudently. No doubt he has been notorious even at this distance from London.
He was out of the town at last, and on his way home. Somebody called him by name, and he looked round. Sebag was hurrying behind him.