"That perfessor must of put more science
into Henry's pill than he thought he did fur it to
of knocked him out this quick. It ain't skeercly
three minutes."
When Henry falls the woman staggers and tries
to throw herself on top of him. The corners of
her mouth was all drawed down, and her eyes was
turned up. But she don't yell none. She can't.
She tries, but she jest gurgles in her throat. The
perfessor won't let her fall acrost Henry. He
ketches her. "Sit up, Jane," he says, with that
Estelle look onto his face, "and let us have a talk."
She looks at him with no more sense in her face
than a piece of putty has got. But she can't look
away from him.
And I'm kind o' paralyzed, too. If that feller
laying on the floor had only jest kicked oncet, or
grunted, or done something, I could of loosened
up and yelled, and I would of. I jest NEEDED to
fetch a yell. But Henry ain't more'n dropped down
there till I'm feeling jest like he'd ALWAYS been
there, and I'd ALWAYS been staring into that room,
and the last word any one spoke was said hundreds
and hundreds of years ago.
"You're a murderer," says Jane in a whisper,
looking at the perfessor in that stare-eyed way.
"You're a MURDERER," she says, saying it like she
was trying to make herself feel sure he really was
one.
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