They were
singing songs--wild rollicking choruses which were very wonderful to
listen to, and yet terribly disturbing to Samuel. These fortunate
successful ones--he would grant them the right to any happiness--it
was to be expected that they should dwell in perpetual merriment and
delight. But he could hear the champagne corks popping every few
minutes. And COULD it be right for them to drink!
It grew late, and still the revelry went on. A thunderstorm had come
up and was raging outside. The servants who were not at work, had gone
to bed, but there was no sleep for Samuel; he continued to prowl
about, restless and tormented. The whole house was now deserted, save
for the party in the dining room; and so he crept up, by one of the
rear stairways, and crouched in a doorway, where he could listen to
the wild uproar.
He had been there perhaps ten minutes. He could hear the singing and
yelling, though he could not make out the words because of the noise
of the elements. But then suddenly, above all the confusion, he heard
a woman's shrieks piercing and shrill; and he started up and sprang
into the hall. Whether they were cries of anger, or of fear, or of
pain, Samuel could not be certain; but he knew that they were not
cries of enjoyment.
He stood trembling. There rose a babel of shouts, and then again came
the woman's voice--"No, no--you shan't, I say!"
"Sit down, you fool!" Samuel heard Bertie Lockman shout.
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