“Died in five minutes, poor thing.”
“And the husband ... they couldn’t...?”
“No, couldn’t identify ... they could not identify him ... only by some papers in his pocket.”
“And he’d got a little bagpipe done up in a package ... for their little boy....”
“Never spoke a word....”
“Never a word, poor creature.”
“May Christ be good to ’em.”
“Yes, yes,” they all said softly.
The child walked quietly up the stairs to his mother’s bedroom. Two policemen were there making notes in their pocket books, their helmets lying on the unused bed. There were also three or four friendly women neighbours. As he entered the room the gossip ceased abruptly. One of the women gasped “O Jesus!” and they seemed to huddle together eyeing him as if he had stricken them with terror. With his fingers still upon the handle of the door he looked up at the tallest policeman and said:
“What’s the matter?”