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Spires and Gargoyles
Amorythoughtofthebackofthathead—thathair—thathair...andthentheyturnedtheformover.
"It’sDick—DickHumbird!"
"Oh,Christ!"
"Feelhisheart!"
Thentheinsistentvoiceoftheoldcroneinasortofcroakingtriumph:
"He’squitedead,allright.Thecarturnedover.Twoofthementhatweren’thurtjustcarriedtheothersin,butthisone’snouse."
Amoryrushedintothehouseandtherestfollowedwithalimpmassthattheylaidonthesofaintheshoddylittlefrontparlor.Sloane,withhisshoulderpunctured,wasonanotherlounge.Hewashalfdelirious,andkeptcallingsomethingaboutachemistrylectureat8:10.
"Idon’tknowwhathappened,"saidFerrenbyinastrainedvoice."Dickwasdrivingandhewouldn’tgiveupthewheel;wetoldhimhe’dbeendrinkingtoomuch—thentherewasthisdamncurve—oh,myGod!..."Hethrewhimselffacedownwardonthefloorandbrokeintodrysobs.
Thedoctorhadarrived,andAmorywentovertothecouch,wheresomeonehandedhimasheettoputoverthebody.Withasuddenhardness,heraisedoneofthehandsandletitfallbackinertly.Thebrowwascoldbutthefacenotexpressionless.Helookedattheshoe-laces—Dickhadtiedthemthatmorning.Hehadtiedthem—andnowhewasthisheavywhitemass.AllthatremainedofthecharmandpersonalityoftheDickHumbirdhehadknown—oh,itwasallsohorribleandunaristocraticandclosetotheearth.Alltragedyhasthatstrainofthegrotesqueandsqualid—souseless,futile...thewayanimalsdie....
