Then a relaxation, and a breathing freely once
more.
"'Twas young Wilson and a fireman wi' a ladder," said Margaret's
neighbour, a tall man who could overlook the crowd.
"Oh, tell us what you see?" begged Mary.
"They've getten it fixed against the gin-shop wall. One o' the men
i' the factory has fell back; dazed wi' the smoke, I'll warrant.
The floor's not given way there. God!" said he, bringing his eye
lower down, "the ladder's too short! It's a' over wi' them, poor
chaps. Th' fire's coming slow and sure to that end, and afore
they've either getten water, or another ladder, they'll be dead out
and out. Lord have mercy on them!"
A sob, as if of excited women, was heard in the hush of the crowd.
Another pressure like the former! Mary clung to Margaret's arm with
a pinching grasp, and longed to faint, and be insensible, to escape
from the oppressing misery of her sensations. A minute or two.
"They've taken th' ladder into th' Temple of Apollor. Can't press
back with it to the yard it came from."
A mighty shout arose; a sound to wake the dead.
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