The car turned over.

Two of the men that weren't hurt just carried the others in, but this one's no use." Amory rushed into the house and the rest followed with a limp mass that they laid on the sofa in the shoddy little front parlor.

Sloane, with his shoulder punctured, was on another lounge.

He was half delirious, and kept calling something about a chemistry lecture at 8:10.
"I don't know what happened," said Ferrenby in a strained voice.

"Dick was driving and he wouldn't give up the wheel; we told him he'd been drinking too much--then there was this damn curve--oh, my _God!_..." He threw himself face downward on the floor and broke into dry sobs.
The doctor had arrived, and Amory went over to the couch, where some one handed him a sheet to put over the body.