"It's a woman," she said.
The shrieking came nearer and nearer, long, repeated, throat-tearing
shrieks. Far off there was a great clamour of dogs. And there was
another sound, a whisper--?
"RAIN!"
The shrieks seemed to turn into a side street and receded. The
tension of listening relaxed. Men's voices sounded below in
question and answer. Dogs close at hand barked shortly and then
stopped enquiringly.
Benham seemed to himself to be sitting alone for an interminable
time. He lit another match and consulted his watch. It was four
o'clock and nearly dawn. . . .
Then slowly and stumbling up the ladder the men began to return to
Benham's room.
"Ask them what it is," urged Amanda.
But for a time not even Giorgio would understand Benham's questions.
There seemed to be a doubt whether he ought to know. The shrieking
approached again and then receded. Giorgio came and stood, a vague
thoughtful figure, by the embers of the fire. Explanation dropped
from him reluctantly. It was nothing. Some one had been killed:
that was all.
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