Towards
morning she died with a rapid series of hiccoughs that sounded like a
piece of clockwork running down.
The thing had been done in the cloakroom where the kindergarten children
hung their hats and coats. There was no other entrance except by going
through the main schoolroom. McTeague going out had shut the door of
the cloakroom, but had left the street door open; so when the children
arrived in the morning, they entered as usual.
About half-past eight, two or three five-year-olds, one a little colored
girl, came into the schoolroom of the kindergarten with a great chatter
of voices, going across to the cloakroom to hang up their hats and coats
as they had been taught.
Half way across the room one of them stopped and put her small nose
in the air, crying, "Um-o-o, what a funnee smell!" The others began to
sniff the air as well, and one, the daughter of a butcher, exclaimed,
"'Tsmells like my pa's shop," adding in the next breath, "Look, what's
the matter with the kittee?"
In fact, the cat was acting strangely. He lay quite flat on the floor,
his nose pressed close to the crevice under the door of the little
cloakroom, winding his tail slowly back and forth, excited, very eager.
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