Summary

Portrait of Ethel Turner Ethel Turner In the Silence of the Sleep-Time (1896)

She was on her knees now, clinging to the rails like a maniac drowning at sea. Jim was dead. A gang of men—they had all shot together. Jim was dead!
She forced her body down the staircase; her legs utterly refused to support her, but by clinging to the rails she huddled herself along that she might go to him.
Then the yellow light of the hall gas flashed in her eyes. Jim had lighted it himself, and was standing under it—right under the orange-coloured glass shade. Jim, in his tennis flannels, unhurt, with the revolver that he had transferred to his left hand still smoking.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Ethel Turner Ethel Turner In the Silence of the Sleep-Time (1896)

He had not quite freed his arms from her warm little body—Laura had just grasped her, was lifting her over—when the servants, watching on the upstairs landing, shrieked hideously in sudden chorus. He pushed the child over and sprang round.
With a sudden drop all the blood went out of his heart—the capacity of movement deserted him. His man had struggled up to his feet and was standing in the middle of the hall, his arm held out, his revolver pointed directly at the blue figure that was grasping in utter unconsciousness the little white one.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Ethel Turner Ethel Turner In the Silence of the Sleep-Time (1896)

And better hit the woman for that would be a harder hit for the man. He fell he could lie there and laugh himself sardonically to death if he could thus rake the decks of the "class."
His finger trembled on the trigger.
But even as it trembled, a child burst out from a doorway some distance down the hall—a child in a nightgown—a very indignant, small child, for her nurse was going on in a most ridiculous fashion, it seemed to her, who had no experience of hysterics subdued from terror into stifled sobs and laughter.
Source: Wikisource

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