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Updated: May 6, 2025
No other sounds were heard save the voices of the menials who stripped the galleries of their cushions and tapestry, in order to put them in safety for the night, and wrangled among themselves for the half-used bottles of wine and relics of the refreshment which had been served round to the spectators.
In the centre stood a kitchen table, on either side of which was a rudely constructed bench, evidently the handiwork of David Strong. Two strips of rag carpet served as a rug. At each end of the table was a candlestick containing a half-used tallow candle. There was a single ink pot, but there were two penholders beside it, and a couple of blue blotters.
The half-used glasses on the little table beside her; the candle burned down in the socket, and overlooked; the tightly corked phials of useless drugs; the strong odour of mustard from the saucer in which a plaster had been mixed these things struck upon her faltering consciousness with a shock of horrible reality. The odour of the mustard was more real than the breathing of the body on the bed.
Clarence, his son, had smoked incessantly since leaving Camp Crook, and now threw away his half-used cheroot, and listened to the sighing of the spectral pines. "The girl what about her?" he asked, after some moments had elapsed. "She will be as much to the way as the boy will." "She? Well, we'll attend to her after we git him out of the way. He is the worst obstacle to our path, at present.
"The boy collected his wits, uttered a gasp, then sprang to the silent machine gun. A half-used strip of shells was in the gun and other strips were close at hand. "Little Mattia began to work the machine gun. He swept the field with it as far as it would reach to the right and the left, sending a rain of bullets into the enemy.
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