Американська трагедія

Chapter 30

           Hedarednotthink—letalonecry.Sothat’showitwas.Theydrewthecurtains.Andthen—andthen.Hewasgonenow.Thosethreedimmingsofthelights.Sure,thoseweretheflashes.Andafterallthosenightsatprayer.Thosemoanings!Thosebeatingsofhishead!Andonlyaminuteagohehadbeenalive—walkingbythere.Butnowdead.Andsomedayhe—he!—howcouldhebesurethathewouldnot?Howcouldhe?

           Heshookandshook,lyingonhiscouch,facedown.Thekeeperscameandranupthecurtains—assureandsecureintheirlivesapparentlyasthoughtherewasnodeathintheworld.Andafterwardshecouldhearthemtalking—nottohimsomuch—hehadprovedtooreticentthusfar—buttosomeoftheothers.

           PoorPasquale.Thiswholebusinessofthedeathpenaltywasallwrong.Thewardenthoughtso.Sodidthey.Hewasworkingtohaveitabolished.

           Butthatman!Hisprayers!Andnowhewasgone.Hiscellovertherewasemptyandanothermanwouldbeputinit—togotoo,later.Someone—many—likeCutrone,likehimself—hadbeeninthisone—onthispallet.Hesatup—movedtothechair.Buthe—they—hadsatonthat—too.Hestoodup—onlytosinkdownonthepalletagain."God!God!God!God!"henowexclaimedtohimself—butnotaloud—andyetnotunlikethatothermanwhohadsoterrorizedhimonthenightofhisarrivalhereandwhowasstillhere.Buthewouldgotoo.Andalloftheseothers—andhimselfmaybe—unless—unless

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