Her black hair seemed all a-bristle. Her black eyes flamed. Her dark
face worked like a quicksand. Her skirts were wet to the waist. Her
jacket was open at the top, as though she had wrenched at it in a fit of
choking. Her strong bare throat throbbed convulsively. Her hands, half
closed at her side, looked as though they wanted something to claw.
"Did you do it?" she cried hoarsely, stalking up to Gard.
"Do what?"
"Kill him."
"Tom?... You don't mean to say--"
"You ought to know. He's there in the school-house, broken to a jelly
and his head staved in. And they say it's you he fought with last night.
The marks of it are on your face"--her voice rose to a scream--"Murderer!
Murderer! Murderer!"
"You wicked--thing!" cried Nance, pale to the lips.
"You--you--you!" foamed Julie. "You're as bad as he is. Because my man
tried to save you from that--murderer--"
"Oh, you--wicked!--You're crazy," cried Nance, rushing at her as though
to make an end of her.
And Julie, mad with the strain of the night's anxieties and their abrupt
and terrible ending, uncurled her claws and struck at her with a
snarl--tore off her sun-bonnet, and would have ripped up her face, if
Gard had not flung his arms round her from the back and dragged her
screaming and kicking towards her own door.
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