You Nigger bastard! he screamed.
He drew his revolver and shot once, twice into the ugly black mass.
Immediately his anger left him. The gun slipped from his fingers. His legs, shaking with terror, refused to support him. He sank to his knees.
Mary, he cried aloud, I didn't do it! I didn't do it!
He was curiously conscious that a white hand was reaching for the gun. He looked up to face a coat of blue buttoned with brass.
New York
March 1, 1926
