I remember
gripping Billie closely, and seeing her white face, even as I warded off
with uplifted arm the falling plaster. The soldier was on his knees,
grovelling with face against the floor. A great jagged hole appeared in
the opposite wall, and I could see daylight through it. My ears roared,
my brain reeled.
"Lie down," I cried, forcing her to the floor. "Both of you lie down!"
"And you--you!"
I caught a glimpse of her eyes staring up at me, her arms uplifted.
"I am going to stop this," I answered, "and you must stay here."
I stumbled over the rubbish, with but one thought driving me--the
dining-room table, its white cloth, and the possibility of getting
outside before those deadly guns could be discharged again. I knew the
house was already in ruins, tottering, with huge gaping holes ripped in
its sides; that dead men littered the floor; and the walls threatened to
fall and bury us. Another round would complete the horror, would crush
us into dust. I gripped the cloth, jerking it from the table, stumbling
blindly toward the nearest glare of light. There was a pile of shattered
furniture in the way, and I tore a path through, hurling the fragments
to left and right. I smelt the fumes of powder, the odor of plaster, and
heard groans and cries.
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