Lincoln in the Bardo(61)
C.
A mass exodus from the chapel ensued, our cohort fleeing out through all four walls at once.
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Many succumbing even while in motion.
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Mr. Bevins and I rushed out together, as the inky night around the chapel lit up with multiple instances of the matterlightblooming phenomenon.
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All was chaos.
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The pale smock of the beautiful raped mulatto floated down, still stained with bloody handprints at the hips.
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Followed by the large unoccupied dress of Mrs. Hodge.
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The air was filled with curses, shouts, the hissing velocity-sounds of our dear friends desperately rushing away through bushes and low-hanging trees.
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Several had been so severely infected with doubt that locomotion now became impossible.
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These slumped wearily against stones, crawled weakly along pathways, lay draped and broken-seeming across benches, as if dropped from the sky.
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Many succumbing from these undignified positions.
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Now across the chapel lawn charged Lieutenant Stone.
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Heading directly for Mr. Farwell.
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Clear thee away, cease Contaminating this Holy place, SHARD.
As I am the Man among all here who has been in this Place the longest (the number of my Nights here being beyond TWENTY THOUSAND, and the Number of Souls who, coming to this place, have, through Cowardice and Flinching, since departed anon, by my latest count, nearing NINE HUNDRED), who shall Manage things here if not me, and I will be DAMNED and DAMNED GOOD if the current chaos shall be exploited by a SHARD-MAN as an excuse to loaf!
lieutenant cecil stone
Even the Lieutenant’s extreme self-confidence seemed affected by the recent confusion, for he did not grow any taller during this diatribe and seemed, even, to shrink a little.
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The Lieutenant ordered Mr. Farwell back to work, back to whatever work had been assigned him, by whichever white person had assigned it, at which time Mr. Farwell seized the Lieutenant by the collar and threw him roughly down upon his back.
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The Lieutenant demanded to know how Mr. Farwell dare touch a white man in anger, and commanded Farwell to let him up; Mr. Farwell refusing, the Lieutenant kicked Farwell in the chest, and Farwell flew back, and the Lieutenant leapt to his feet and, straddling Farwell, began beating him about the head with his fists. In desperation Farwell groped about for a nearby path stone and swung it into the Lieutenant’s head, causing the Lieutenant to fall to the ground and his tricorne to fly off. Farwell then positioned one knee upon the Lieutentant’s chest and used the stone to smash the Lieutenant’s skull into a flat pulpy mass, after which he stumbled away and sat on the ground disconsolately, head in hands, weeping.
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The Lieutenant’s head quickly re-forming, he revived and, catching sight of the weeping Mr. Farwell, barked out that he was not aware a SHARD could weep, since to weep one must possess human emotions, and again ordered Mr. Farwell back to work, back to whatever work had been assigned him, by whichever white person had assigned it, and again Mr. Farwell seized the Lieutenant by the collar, and threw him down upon his back, and again the Lieutenant demanded to know how Mr. Farwell dare touch a white man in anger and commanded Farwell to let him up, and, Mr. Farwell again refusing, the Lieutenant again kicked Farwell in the chest—
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And so on.
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It was still going on as we fled the scene.
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Showed no sign of abating.
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Was proceeding with a fury that suggested the two might well fight on into eternity.
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Unless some fundamental and unimaginable alteration of reality should occur.
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CI.
Mr. Vollman and I ran-skimmed desperately toward our home-places.
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Shaken.
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Even we were shaken.
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Even Mr. Bevins and I were shaken.
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Brother, what are we to do? I called over.
Here we are, Mr. Vollman called back. Look at me. Here I am. Who is it—who is it that speaks? Who is it hears my speaking?
But we were shaken.
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We came now upon the disreputable Barons, collapsed in a heap atop the Constantine sick-mound (an unremarkable limestone slab, cracked at one corner, marred by bird droppings over many decades— hans vollman
For someone, long ago, had planted a small tree overhead, to shade Constantine from the sun).
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Get up, get up.
No f—–ing stopping. No f—–ing thinking.
eddie baron
I ain’t. I ain’t f—–ing thinking.
I just don’t feel good.
betsy baron
Look at me, look at me.
Remember that time we lived in that f—–ing beautiful field? With the kids? That, uh, spacious meadow?
In that tent? Remember that? After f—–ing Donovan evicted us from that s—–hole by the river? Those were the days, hah?