There was scant time to speak, or even draw an excited breath after the
birds had disappeared, because they were back again, hovering so high
that they were changed to insects.
We ought to have scuttled into the hotel, but somehow we didn't move,
although people in the square seemed suddenly to realize the wisdom of
prudence. Some vanished into doorways, others walked faster--though not
one of those haughty Lorrainers would condescend to run. Forgetful of
ourselves, I was admiring their pride, when an angry voice made me jump.
"You pretend that everything you do, good or bad, is for your brother's
sake, yet you let him risk his life--a _blind_ man!--out here in the
street with bombs and shrapnel dropping every instant!"
It was Dierdre O'Farrell who spoke, and we glared into each other's eyes
like two Kilkenny cats--or a surprised Kilkenny cat and a spitfire
Kilkenny kitten.
A moment before, I had been longing to strike at her. Now it was she who
struck at me; and it was too much, that it should be in defence of my
own brother! The primitive fishwife within me rose to the surface. "Mind
your own business!" I rudely flung at her: and slipping my arm under
Brian's, in a voice of curdled cream begged him to come with me indoors.
The others followed, and about three seconds later a bomb fell in front
of the hotel. It was a "dud," and did not explode, but it made a hole in
the pavement and sent a jet of splintered stone into the air.
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