"Oh-h-h!" she exclaimed in a long breath, her voice hardly rising above
a whisper. "Oh-h, isn't that horrible!" Suddenly she turned and fled
through the front part of the house to the street door, that opened upon
the little alley. She looked wildly about her. Directly across the way a
butcher's boy was getting into his two-wheeled cart drawn up in front of
the opposite house, while near by a peddler of wild game was coming down
the street, a brace of ducks in his hand.
"Oh, say--say," gasped Trina, trying to get her voice, "say, come over
here quick."
The butcher's boy paused, one foot on the wheel, and stared. Trina
beckoned frantically.
"Come over here, come over here quick."
The young fellow swung himself into his seat.
"What's the matter with that woman?" he said, half aloud.
"There's a murder been done," cried Trina, swaying in the doorway.
The young fellow drove away, his head over his shoulder, staring at
Trina with eyes that were fixed and absolutely devoid of expression.
"What's the matter with that woman?" he said again to himself as he
turned the corner.
Trina wondered why she didn't scream, how she could keep from it--how,
at such a moment as this, she could remember that it was improper to
make a disturbance and create a scene in the street.
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