The floor was waving up and down, but we managed to get down the short flight of steps. The noise meanwhile was deafening, and the darkness in the house complete. When we reached the front door and were about to go out, one of the maids pushed me violently aside and dashed out herself. A part of the falling chimney struck her on the head, and she fell to the ground, quite dead. I climbed over her body, still crawling, with the child in my arms. My white négligé was covered with the maid's blood, but this did not effect me at the time in the least. I crawled on and on, while the terrific noises and the shaking continued, always remembering that the safest place was the middle of the lawn—as far from the house as possible. The children were holding tightly to my dressing-gown, and they, too, were covered with the dead woman's blood.
As we were scuttling along the ground, little four year old Chrysoula cried out: "Cousin, my foot is caught!" One of the cracks in the earth—which was opening and shutting—had her little foot imprisoned; but in a second it opened again and her foot was free.
Fortunately, the house was surrounded by a large open lawn, otherwise we might have been killed by the falling trees. In the middle of the lawn we lay still, fascinated and bewildered. It was lighter out here in the open, so that we could see what was taking place. I was not consciously
