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Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. There was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. But this chap is good wine yet.
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