Another went down upon his back clumsily in
the roadway and lay wringing his hands faster and faster until
suddenly with a movement like a sigh they dropped inert by his side.
A straw-hatted youth in a flannel suit ran and stopped and ran
again. He seemed to be holding something red and strange to his
face with both hands; above them his eyes were round and anxious.
Blood came out between his fingers. He went right past the hotel
and stumbled and suddenly sprawled headlong at the opposite corner.
The majority of the crowd had already vanished into doorways and
side streets. But there was still shouting and there was still a
remnant of amazed and angry men in the roadway--and one or two angry
women. They were not fighting. Indeed they were unarmed, but if
they had had weapons now they would certainly have used them.
"But this is preposterous!" cried Benham. "Preposterous. Those
soldiers are never going to shoot again! This must stop."
He stood hesitating for a moment and then turned about and dashed
for the staircase. "Good Heaven!" cried White.
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