Morrison dropped slowly and
slowly backwards, one staggering step at a time; his defenceless arms
held feebly like broken straws before his face. From nose to chin,
from chin to neck, and from the neck in a spreading stream across
his chest, the blood--black in that light--trickled like molten glue.
In his eyes, she could see that questioning glare, the stupid
senseless gaze of a man drunk with exhaustion. And still the blows
fell to the murmuring accompaniment of that gloating crowd--fell
steadily, shortly, tappingly, like the beating of a stick upon dead
meat.
"He's got him now, by Jove! he's got him now," she just heard Traill
muttering, and then the yellow lamplight slowly went out into the
shadows; the deep, black curtain of the sky slowly descended over
the whole scene; she felt a cold wind full of moisture fanning gently
upon her forehead and her lips; she heard the muffled sounds going
further and further away as though some great hand were spreading
a black velvet cloth over it all; then Traill heard her uncomplaining
moan, and felt the dead weight of her senseless body as it lurched
against his own.
CHAPTER XVII
There are men of a certain type in this world whose judgment is
exceedingly sound when their instincts are not in play, but who, in
certain channels, when the senses are at riot, become puerile; the
good ship, rudderless, which only rights itself when the storm has
passed.
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