At the same time it was very trying.
“Not a word,” said Mole, under his breath.
“Not a move,” whispered Monday.
Clara was lying like a log under an acacia tree.
She scarcely dared to breathe.
Koosh and Kassala, with their attendant pirates, were indulging in a wholesale massacre of the passengers.
After robbing them they killed them.
Shot down like rabbits they were.
In a little while the shots and cries ceased. Not a sound was to be heard.
It was the eternal silence of the tomb.