Was she breathing, wall to wall, with murder?
Ah—that clutch at Rotwang’s neck.... That form, being dragged away, pulled from darkness into deeper darkness....
Was he dead?... Was he lying behind that door, in a corner, face twisted around to his back, with broken neck and glazed eyes? Was the murderer still standing behind that door?
The room, in which she was, seemed suddenly to become filled with the sound of a dull thumping. It grew louder and louder, more and more violent. It deafened the ears and yet remained dull.... Gradually she realised: It was her own heart-beat.... If somebody had come into the room, she would not have heard him, her heart was beating so.
Stammered words of a childish prayer passed through her brain, confusedly and senselessly.... “Dear God, I pray Thee, bide with me, take care of me, Amen.”... She thought of Freder.... No—don’t cry, don’t cry—!
“Dear God, I pray Thee....”
This silence was no longer bearable! She must see—must be certain.
But she did not dare to take a step. She had got up and could not find courage to return to her old seat. She was as though sewn into a black sack. She held her arms pressed close to her body. Horrors stood at her neck and blew at her.
Now she heard—yes, she heard something. Yet the sound did not come from inside the house; it came from far away. This sound even penetrated the walls of Rotwang’s house, which were otherwise penetrated by no sound, wherever it came from.
It was the voice of Metropolis. But she was screaming what she had never screamed before.