"Are they all mad?" she thought in horror. The impulse to shriek was strong in her throat, and her arms trembled with the desire to rattle the door.
Of one voice close to her—a hurrying, toneless voice, she was presently able to distinguish the words: "... Got him down. He was lying on his back with his neck twisted, and the blood running back into his curly hair. And him on'y a lad with his smooth skin and his red mouth. And they began kickin' him, the whole four of them, with their thick-soled shoes; kickin' his helpless body this way and that; kickin' his face with their dirty, cruel feet; and kickin' his head till he was all twisted up. I knew where the gun was. Would you blame me for snatching it up and firing it at them butchers? Would you blame me? Would you blame me? I'm only huma
