Now and then a military car tooting
furiously would whisk through the streets empty of wheeled traffic, like
an intensely black shadow under the great flood of electric lights on the
grey pavement.
But what produced the greatest impression on my mind was a gathering at
night in the coffee-room of my hotel of a few men of mark whom I was
asked to join. It was about one o'clock in the morning. The shutters
were up. For some reason or other the electric light was not switched
on, and the big room was lit up only by a few tall candles, just enough
for us to see each other's faces by. I saw in those faces the awful
desolation of men whose country, torn in three, found itself engaged in
the contest with no will of its own, and not even the power to assert
itself at the cost of life. All the past was gone, and there was no
future, whatever happened; no road which did not seem to lead to moral
annihilation. I remember one of those men addressing me after a period
of mournful silence compounded of mental exhaustion and unexpressed
forebodings.
"What do you think England will do? If there is a ray of hope anywhere
it is only there.
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