I left Mr.
Morris, and ran around the corner of the street to the back of the hotel.

It was not burned as much here as in the front, and in the houses all around, people were out on their roofs with wet blankets, and some were standing at the window watching the fire, or packing up their belongings ready to move if it should spread to them.

There was a narrow lane running up a short distance toward the hotel, and I started to go up this, when in front of me I heard such a wailing, piercing noise, that it made me shudder and stand still.

The Italian's animals were going to be burned up and they were calling to their master to come and get them out.

Their voices sounded like the voices of children in mortal pain.