Yet in a way he had escaped wonderfully. None of the wheels had touched him: just that single kick a little above his left ear....
They had been walking slowly, Brocklehurst close to the hedge, he, Graham, in the middle of the road, when the terrified horses had come dashing round the corner, the drag swaying violently behind them, one of the reins hanging broken and useless. He remembered jumping to one side. His foot had slipped on something, and he had fallen. The dust, the noise, a wheel just touching his coat as he rolled himself out of the way.... He knew now that Brocklehurst had sprung at the horses’ heads, had given him, it might be, that one extra moment....
And now it was all over. Their long afternoon in the boat; on the rocks; their little act of pagan worship;—all that had been this afternoon, and it was over. He was walking, a few steps behind the others, up the avenue toward the house.
[X]
Night at last.
Every one at length gone away; everything arranged; the house still and solemn.
His father had left him alone for a little with the dead boy. At last!...