Then the people heard, rushing along together, like the sound of a sea, the bellowing and the shouting and the shrieking, the weeping and the laughter, the child-voices and the women's voices. These were all interfolded and intertwined and overlapped. They were under each other and over each other and within each other. They were in one place, and in another place, and in yet a third place; then they were everywhere at once, till the people began to think that all the turmoil was inside their own ears. Then another sound was heard in the music, a sound like the low rumbling of thunder. It swept along the floor, swelling and decreasing in its roaring. It went through the timbers of the house, and through the wood of the chairs, and through the people's bones, quivering and surging. It became stronger and stronger until it gathered to itself all the music and all the voices, and swept them round the house as in a whirlpool. Then the thunder grew yet stronger and heavier, and all became more violent—the whirling and the quivering and surging in the wood and in the people's bones—until all the listeners began to feel a palpitation of the heart and a dizziness in the head.
Then one of the child-voices went away out through the chimney. One of the women's voices followed it. Then a woman's voice went out through the chimney, and a child-voice followed it. Then a shriek went out by the chimney, and another shriek followed it. Then there went out through the chimney the first human voice that was heard in the music. The other different sorts of music followed them by degrees. Soon there was nothing heard within but the thunder, surging and quivering.
