Merci
tiens j´ai le texte en entier pour que tu vois le contexte :
It was pitch dark. The wind was blowing harder than ever, coming in steady gusts,, icy, from the sea. He kicked at the step outside the door. It was heaped with birds. There were dead birds everywhere. Under the widows, against the walls. These were the suicides, the divers, the ones with broken necks. Wherever he looked he saw dead birds. No trace of the living. The living had flown seaward with the turn of the tide. The gulls would be riding the seas now, as they had done in the forenoon.
In the far distance, on the hill where the tractors had been two days before, something was burning. One of the aircraft that had crashed; the fire, fanned by the wind had set light to a stack.
He looked at the bodies of the birds, and he had a notion that if he heaped them, one upon the other, on the window sills they would make added protection for the next attack. Not much, perhaps, but something. The bodies would have to be clawed at, pecked, and dragged aside, before the living birds gained purchase on the sills and attacked the panes. He set to work in the darkness. It was queer; he hated touching them. The bodies were still warm and bloody. The blood matted their feathers. He felt his stomach turn, but he went on with his work. He noticed, grimly, that«very window-pane was shattered. Only the boards had kept the birds from breaking in. He stuffed the cracked panes with the bleeding bodies of the birds.