Explore "A Thousand Miles an Hour" by Herbert Strang on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
IN the chill grey mist of a cheerless dawn a small company of privileged spectators was assembled in the courtyard of the prison. There was to be an execution: not the public execution of some "poor Indian with untutored mind," whose end might afford amusement to the populace, but a more private ceremonial, to which only a select few would be admitted.
Certain of the town's notabilities were there, persons of importance, who, though the hour was early and the air nipping, had come in good time for the spectacle, as they, or others of different tastes, might have gone to the "first night" of a drama.