The screaming began again: "I-ihh! I-ihh! I-ihh!" Up and up, tearing your brain. Then: "Aah-a-o-oh!" Tearing your heart out. "Aa-h-a-o-oh!" and "Ahh-ahh!" Short and sharp.
She threw off the bed-clothes, and went out to the foot of the stairs. The cries had stopped. There was a sound of feet staggering and shuffling. Somebody being carried.
Dan came back down the stair. His trousers were drawn up over his night-shirt, the braces hanging. He was sucking the back of his hand and spitting the blood out on to his sleeve.
"Dan—was that Aunt Charlotte?"
"Yes."
"Was it pain?"
"No." He was out of breath. She could see his night-shirt shake with the beating of his heart.
"Have you hurt your hand?"
"No."
"Can I do anything?"