"Don't let it drip about
the place. She"--he stepped on broken glass in his slippers, "she
must have smashed a pane."
Miss Mary lurched towards the open window again, dropped on her
knees, her head on the sill, and lay quiet, surrendering the cut
hand to me.
"What did she do?" Baxter turned towards Miss Elizabeth in the
far bed.
"She was going to throw herself out of the window," was the
answer. "I stopped her, and sent Arthurs for you. Oh, we can
never hold up our heads again!"
Miss Mary writhed and fought for breath. Baxter found a shawl
which he threw over her shoulders.
"Nonsense!" said he. "That isn't like Mary;" but his face worked
when he said it.
"You wouldn't believe about Aggie, John. Perhaps you will now!"
said Miss Elizabeth. "I saw her do it, and she's cut her throat
too!"
"She hasn't," I said. "It's only her hand."
Miss Mary suddenly broke from us with an indescribable grunt,
flew, rather than ran, to her sister's bed, and there shook her
as one furious schoolgirl would shake another.
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