On another bed, a shadow is swaying regularly, like a doll.

The mass and the shadow are a negro, whose big, murderous head is hafted with a tiny neck.
The hoarse concert of lungs and throats multiplies and widens.

There are some who raise the arms of marionettes out of the boxes of their beds.

Others remain interred in the gray of the bed-clothes.

Now and again, unsteady ghosts pass through the room and stoop between the beds, and one hears the noise of a metal pail.