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! ' Once more and for the last time the moon flashed before his eyes but it
split into fragments and then went black.
Berlioz vanished from sight under the tramcar and a round, dark object
rolled across the cobbles, over the kerbstone and bounced along the
pavement.
It was a severed head.
The women's hysterical shrieks and the sound, of police whistles died
away. Two ambulances drove on, one bearing the body and the decapitated head
to the morgue, the other carrying the beautiful tram-driver who had been
wounded by slivers of glass. Street sweepers in white overalls swept up the
broken glass and poare'd sand on the pools of blood. Ivan Nikolayich, who
had failed to reach the turnstile in time, collapsed on a bench and remained
there. Several times he tried to ge:t up, but his legs refuse d to obey him,
stricken by a kind of paralysis.
The moment he had heard the first cry the poet had rushed towards the
turnstile and seen the head bouncing on the pavement. The sight unnerved him
so much that he bit his hand until it drew blood. He had naturally forgotten
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