Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/176

 universe, played before his eyes. Suddenly they were shattered by a terrific explosion in his brain—then darkness.

But no, there was still sensation; a dull purple color slowly spread before him, gradually grew lighter, expanded, and with a mighty pain he struggled, groping his way in torture and torment over fearful obstacles from some far distance, remote as black stars in the cold abyss of the universe; he struggled back to life—then an appalling confusion, a grasp at consciousness; he heard the ticking of the two watches—then, through his brain there slowly trickled a thread of thought that squirmed and glowed like a white-hot wire

A faint groan escaped the pale lips below the black leather mask, a tremor ran through the form in the chair, then it relaxed and was still.

"It's all over." The doctor, lifting his fingers from Archie's wrist, tried to smile, and wiped the perspiration from his face with a handkerchief.

Some one flung up a window, and a draught of cool air sucked through the room. On the draught was borne from the death-chamber the stale odor of Russian cigarettes. And then a demoniacal roar shook the cell-house. The convicts had been awake.