Behind, there was a long New York train coming in.

Mr. Ledwith put his head out again, and looked back. All right;
there had been a flag; the train had slackened just beyond a curve.

But why will people do such things? What is the use of asking? Mr.
Ledwith still looked out; he could not have told you why.

A quicker motion; a darkening of the window; a freight car standing
upon a siding, close to the switch, as they passed by; a sudden,
dull blow, half unheard in the rumble of the train. Women, sitting
behind, sprang up,--screamed; one dropped, fainting: they had seen a
ghastly sight; warm drops of blood flew in upon them; the car was in
commotion.

Kenneth Kincaid, with an exclamation of horror, clutched hold of a
lifeless body that fell--was thrust--backward beside him; the poor
head fractured, shattered, against the fatal window frame.

* * * * *

The eleven o'clock train came out.

People came up the street,--a group of gentlemen, three or
four,--toward Mr. Prendible's house.

Desire sat in a back window behind the blinds, busy. Mrs. Ledwith
was lying on the bed.