"Oh, Jimmie." He was leaning against the wall and swearing.

Blood stood upon bruises on his knotty fore-arms where they had scraped against the floor or the walls in the scuffle.

The mother lay screeching on the floor, the tears running down her furrowed face.
Maggie, standing in the middle of the room, gazed about her.

The usual upheaval of the tables and chairs had taken place.

Crockery was strewn broadcast in fragments.