Sally heard the thud, the void,
hollow sound as when the butcher wields his chopper on the naked bone.
She saw one glimpse of the bloody face as it fell out of the circle
of light into the shadows that hung about the ground, and the little
cry that drove its way between her teeth was drowned by Traill's
exclamatory delight.
"Good left!" he called out excitedly; "follow it up, man! Follow it
up! Don't let him forget it!" Through the fogged haze of sensation,
in which for the moment she was almost lost, Sally heard the sudden
cessation of voices below. She heard the scurrying of feet and
Traill's low chuckle of ironical laughter.
"It's all right!" he called to them. "Go on as far as I'm concerned.
I'm nothing to do with the police. You know your own job better than
I do. I don't want to interfere with it. Go on."
The voices commenced their chattering again, through which
excitement, like a wandering bee, hummed a moving note.
"You won't make any fuss, will yer, mister?" the master's voice could
be heard saying.
"I? Make a fuss? No; why the devil should I? Go on!"
"Third round!" said the master.
Then for a moment Sally's eyes opened. In one of the corners sat
Morrison on the knee of an attendant, who was sponging the blood from
his face, whilst another flapped a towel before him.
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