At the second and
louder shout he did look up; and the car was almost on him; but he
could not make up his mind if the charming little figure he had seen
was Lucy's and he could not make up his mind whether to go backward or
forward: these questions became entangled in his mind. Then, still
not being able to decide which of two ways to go, he tried to go both
--and the little car ran him down. It was not moving very rapidly, but
it went all the way over George.
He was conscious of gigantic violence; of roaring and jolting and
concussion; of choking clouds of dust, shot with lightning, about his
head; he heard snapping sounds as loud as shots from a small pistol,
and was stabbed by excruciating pains in his legs. Then he became
aware that the machine was being lifted off of him. People were
gathering in a circle round him, gabbling.
His forehead was bedewed with the sweat of anguish, and he tried to
wipe off this dampness, but failed. He could not get his arm that
far.
"Nev' mind," a policeman said; and George could see above his eyes the
skirts of the blue coat, covered with dust and sunshine.
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