"Yes," said Levison unwillingly. "That may be true as well. You have no doubt, like most of us, got a complex nature which—"
CRASH!
There intervened one awful minute of pure shock, when the soul was in darkness.
Out of this shock Aaron felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible sensations: the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of glass, the hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, the awful gulfing whirlpool of horror in the social life.
He stood in agony and semi-blindness amid a chaos. Then as he began to recover his consciousness, he found himself standing by a pillar some distance from where he had been sitting: he saw a place where tables and chairs were all upside down, legs in the air, amid débris of glass and breakage: he saw the café almost empty, nearly everybody gone: he saw the owner, or the manager, advancing aghast to the place of débris: he saw Lilly standing not far off, white as a sheet, and as if unconscious. And still he had no idea of what had happened. He thought perhaps something had broken down. He could not understand.
Lilly began to look round. He caught Aaron's eye. And then Aaron began to approach his friend.
"What is it?" he asked.
"A bomb," said Lilly.
The manager, and one old waiter, and three or four youths had now advanced to the place of débris. And now Aaron saw that a man was lying there—and horror, blood was running across the floor of the café. Men began now hastily to return to the place. Some seized their hats and departed again at once. But many began to crowd in—a black eager crowd of men pressing to where the bomb had burst—where the man was lying. It was rather dark, some of the lamps were broken—but enough still shone. Men surged in with that eager, excited zest of people, when there has been an accident. Grey carabinieri, and carabinieri in the cocked hat and fine Sunday uniform pressed forward officiously.
