into whose hands

My plan to ensure that the wingpiglet was able to pedal along the whole route himself without hesitation, deviation or petition for restorative consumption sort of worked, but I didn't leave as early as I'd planned, which left less time for refuelling and resting at the museum, which meant it was only a few minutes shy of noon by the time we rolled down MMW to the amassed horde. There was just enough time to grab our pre-booked T-shirts, remove my bamboo stalk from my frame and insert it into the foam of the sign and squeeze into a marshal-prompted space prior to the mass dinging.