But from the red fireman's cab the green lantern with the black bull's-eye painted on the outward side dangled unlit, and in the dirt-colored house, behind drawn shades, the Hebe-like figure was crouched in another woman's arms, and, in the room adjoining, John Blaney lay dead with a dent in his head.
Who-o-o-p! Who-o-o-p!
"Listen, Cottie, listen!"
"'Sh-h-h-h, darlin'."
The crouching women crouched closer together, a dove-note in the crooning voice of one like the coo of a mate. "'Sh-h-h, darlin'."
"There it goes, Cottie. Gawd, just like nothing had happened."
"'Sh-h-h, dearie; lay still!"
"Listen. The engine's playin' a different tune on the tracks; it's lighter and smoother."
"Yes—yes—'sh-h-h."
"Just hear, Cottie; they got the old diner on. I know her screech."