" They burst into the
kitchen.
"LORD!" ejaculated Heise, stopping a yard or so from the body, and
bending down to peer into the gray face with its brown lips.
"By God! he's killed her."
"Who?"
"Zerkow, by God! he's killed her. Cut her throat. He always said he
would."
"Zerkow?"
"He's killed her. Her throat's cut. Good Lord, how she did bleed! By
God! he's done for her in good shape this time."
"Oh, I told her--I TOLD her," cried Trina.
"He's done for her SURE this time."
"She said she could always manage--Oh-h! It's horrible."
"He's done for her sure this trip. Cut her throat. LORD, how she has
BLED! Did you ever see so much--that's murder--that's cold-blooded
murder. He's killed her. Say, we must get a policeman. Come on."
They turned back through the house. Half a dozen people--the wild-game
peddler, the man with the broad-brimmed hat, the washwoman, and three
other men--were in the front room of the junk shop, a bank of excited
faces surged at the door. Beyond this, outside, the crowd was packed
solid from one end of the alley to the other. Out in Polk Street the
cable cars were nearly blocked and were bunting a way slowly through the
throng with clanging bells.
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