Сестра Керри

Chapter XLI. The Strike

           

           “Whofiredthat?”heheardanofficerexclaim.“ByGod!whodidthat?”Bothlefthim,runningtowardacertainbuilding.Hepausedamomentandthengotdown.

           “George!”exclaimedHurstwood,weakly,“thisistoomuchforme.”

           Hewalkednervouslytothecornerandhurrieddownasidestreet.

           “Whew!”hesaid,drawinginhisbreath.

           Ahalfblockaway,asmallgirlgazedathim.

           “You’dbettersneak,”shecalled.

           Hewalkedhomewardinablindingsnowstorm,reachingtheferrybydusk.Thecabinswerefilledwithcomfortablesouls,whostudiedhimcuriously.Hisheadwasstillinsuchawhirlthathefeltconfused.Allthewonderofthetwinklinglightsoftheriverinawhitestormpassedfornothing.Hetrudgeddoggedlyonuntilhereachedtheflat.Thereheenteredandfoundtheroomwarm.Carriewasgone.Acoupleofeveningpaperswerelyingonthetablewheresheleftthem.Helitthegasandsatdown.Thenhegotupandstrippedtoexaminehisshoulder.Itwasamerescratch.Hewashedhishandsandface,stillinabrownstudy,apparently,andcombedhishair.Thenhelookedforsomethingtoeat,andfinally,hishungergone,satdowninhiscomfortablerocking-chair.Itwasawonderfulrelief.

           Heputhishandtohischin,forgetting,forthemoment,thepapers.

           “Well,”hesaid,afteratime,hisnaturerecoveringitself,“that’saprettytoughgameoverthere.”

           Thenheturnedandsawthepapers.Withhalfasighhepickedupthe“World.”

           “StrikeSpreadinginBrooklyn,”heread.“RiotingBreaksOutinallPartsoftheCity

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