"I meant to die for this people! But
now--let them die for themselves!" And suddenly he reached out to me
in a gesture of frenzy. "Let me get away from them! Anywhere,
anyway! Let me go back where I was--where I do not see, where I do
not hear, where I do not think! Let me go back to the church!"
With these words he started to run down the street; hauling up his
long robes--never would I have dreamed that a prophet's bare legs
could flash so quickly, that he could cover the ground at such
amazing speed! I set out after him; I had stuck to him thus far, and
meant to be in at the finish, whatever it was. We came out on
Broadway again, and there were more crowds of soldier boys; the
prophet sped past them, like a dog with a tin-can tied to its tail.
He came to a cross-street, and dodged the crowded traffic, and I
also got through, knocking pedestrians this way and that. People
shouted, automobiles tooted; the soldiers whooped on the trail. I
began to get short of breath, a little dizzy; the buildings seemed
to rock before me, there were mobs everywhere, and hands clutching
at me, nearly upsetting me.
Pages:
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289