The fury of the death-struggle which had been omitted must take place, and the full rage of wrath and destruction must be vented.

Can a bomb explode and make no sound and do no injury?
Yet Jerry Strann was dead and all the world lived on.

Someone cantered his horse down the street and called gayly to an acquaintance, and afterwards the dust rose, invisible, and blew through the open window and stung the nostrils of Mac Strann.

A child cried, faintly, in the distance, and then was hushed by the voice of the mother, making a sound like a cackling hen.

This was all! There should have been wailing and weeping and cursing and praying, for handsome Jerry Strann was dead.