heavy jaw had fallen loosely upon his heavy throat, without hiding a black spot which spread down to the waist, coagulating the stripes; the third man lay arms spread as if crucified; he was a mere boy, and his face was serene.
“Look, you fellows, look!”
The voice of the captain, growling, was answered by the movement of the guards, pushing 9009, the pickpocket, and the other two men of the break closer to the tables. 9009 looked upon the heap. Miller leered at him with his yellow teeth; the burglar stared stupidly, with dropped jaw; the boy gazed upward with calm eyes, his mouth curved almost in a smile. 9009 remembered him now; he was a mountain boy and of late had taken to talking to himself.
An undercurrent of sound, a sort of attenuated whir, a buzzing that was dull, arose continuously. 9009 bent over, close; then he turned sick.
“Line ’em up,” growled the captain.
To the right of the tables, 9009 was placed, erect; to the left of the tables, the other two.
