But why will people do such things? What is the use of asking? Mr. Ledwith still looked out; he could not have told you why.
A quicker motion; a darkening of the window; a freight car standing upon a siding, close to the switch, as they passed by; a sudden, dull blow, half unheard in the rumble of the train. Women, sitting behind, sprang up,—screamed; one dropped, fainting: they had seen a ghastly sight; warm drops of blood flew in upon them; the car was in commotion.
Kenneth Kincaid, with an exclamation of horror, clutched hold of a lifeless body that fell—was thrust—backward beside him; the poor head fractured, shattered, against the fatal window frame.
The eleven o'clock train came out.
People came up the street,—a group of gentlemen, three or four,—toward Mr. Prendible's house.
Desire sat in a back window behind the blinds, busy. Mrs. Ledwith was lying on the bed.
Steps came in at the house door.
There was an exclamation; a hush. Mr. Prendible's voice, Kenneth Kincaid's, Mr. Dimsey's, the minister's.
"O! How? "—Mrs. Prendible's voice, now.