It seemed to me that if I remained longer there in that narrow street I
should become the helpless prey of the Shadows I had called up. They
were crowding upon me, enigmatic and insistent in their clinging air of
the grave that tasted of dust and of the bitter vanity of old hopes.
"Let's go back to the hotel, my boy," I said. "It's getting late."
It will be easily understood that I neither thought nor dreamt that night
of a possible war. For the next two days I went about amongst my fellow
men, who welcomed me with the utmost consideration and friendliness, but
unanimously derided my fears of a war. They would not believe in it. It
was impossible. On the evening of the second day I was in the hotel's
smoking room, an irrationally private apartment, a sanctuary for a few
choice minds of the town, always pervaded by a dim religious light, and
more hushed than any club reading-room I have ever been in. Gathered
into a small knot, we were discussing the situation in subdued tones
suitable to the genius of the place.
A gentleman with a fine head of white hair suddenly pointed an impatient
finger in my direction and apostrophised me.
Pages:
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247