His
breath, labored, sobbing, showed his distress. They caught him
again when he staggered back, dragged him to a point somewhat
removed, upon the lawn. All the time he struggled, as though once
more to dash back into the flames, or as though to find his
weapons. He was sobbing, half crazed, horribly burned, but
seemingly unmindful of his hurts.
The fire went on steadily with its work, the more rapidly now that
the opening of the front doors had admitted air to the interior.
The construction of the house, with a wide central hall, and
stairways leading up almost to the roof, made an admirable
arrangement for a conflagration. No living being, even though
armed with the best of fire fighting apparatus, could have survived
in that blazing interior. All they could do, since even a bucket
brigade was out of the question here, was to stand and watch for
the end. Some called for ladders, but by accident or design, no
ladders were found where they should have been. Men ran about like
ants.
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