He had been seeing that
hand for a long time, it seemed to him, and only now that the darkness
had so increased as to cut it off from his sight did he realize what it
was and what it must mean.
He still retained a consciousness of the face of Berenice, warm against
his bosom, and with each wave of faintness he struggled to keep his
senses that he might protect her. The din of noises seemed far away,
the cries somewhere at a distance ever increasing. The moans that had
seemed to him those of the girl who clutched his arm grew fainter,
until they were lost in the buzz and whirr of a hundred other sounds.
Then the clasp which held him relaxed as suddenly as if a rope had been
cut away. It came into his mind with a wave of horror that the girl who
had held him was dead. The thought that Berenice might be dead also
followed like a flash, and aroused his benumbed senses. He spoke to
her; he tried to move; to release her from her position. He seemed
buried under a mound of debris, and she gave no sign of life. He
exhausted himself in frantic attempts to escape; to get his arms free;
to turn his head far enough to see her face; to thrust back the rubbish
which had fallen against them.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133