SON OF THE WIND
had been light, now heavy, stiff,, motionless, triumphed over him. They had got beyond reach of woman to release or man to bind. They were down for ever. There was no more to be done.
He let his arms fall at his sides. The sound of the crying was nearer, but it wasn't Blanche's voice. A howl of fear was in it. It was odd that a man should be in fear, now that everything had come to an end. He got from his knees to his feet, and stood swaying while the horizon rushed to the middle of the sky, and the sky plunged down and seemed to swing in under his feet. He felt Esmeralda Charley's hands groping carefully over him. "Let me alone," he said dully, "I'm all right." He knew too well that this was true. He was all right, untouched, good for God knew how much long living! He saw other figures around him and wanted to escape from them. One stood in front of him. Carron pushed past him; the man clawed at his elbow, and clung to it. "What's the use of going back?" he stammered. "She won't look at us now! My God! She'll never look at me again!"
"Oh, go away!" Carron said gently. He had cursed the creature before, but now it did not seem worth doing. He shook him off and walked on. He felt the cold waters of the ford curl around his feet. He looked down at them, and saw them flowing—yet they seemed to him to be stagnant, dead.
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