"It was like
nothing so much as watching a cinematograph," he told me. He could do
nothing; he was held by three soldiers, who apparently wished him to be
a witness of the whole affair. Andre's body lay there, huddled up in a
pool of drying blood, that glistened under the electric light. One of
his legs was bent crookedly under him, and Lawrence had a strange mad
impulse to thrust his way forward and put it straight.
It was then, with a horrible sickly feeling, exactly like a blow in the
stomach, that he realised that the Baroness was there. She was standing,
quite alone, at the entrance of the hall, looking at the soldiers, who
were about eight in number.
He heard her say, "What's happened? Who are you?..." and then in a
sharper, more urgent voice, "Where's my husband?"
Then she saw Andre.... She gave a sharp little cry, moved forward
towards him, and stopped.
"I don't know what she did then," said Lawrence. "I think she suddenly
began to run down the passage. I know she was crying, 'Paul! Paul!
Paul!'... I never saw her again."
The officer--an elderly kindly-looking man like a doctor or a lawyer (I
am trying to give every possible detail, because I think it
important)--then came up to Lawrence and asked him some questions:
"What was his name?"
"Jeremy Ralph Lawrence.
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