When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. “Just think about what you are asking, John, please. ‘I should have thought it was obvious. “You must send for the police at once, you know. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. "How goes it?" he began, heartily. "Sorry," said McClintock, "but I must ask you to check out this afternoon before five. "I haven't any answer for that; but I'm going back after her. ‘Allow me. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. “Let’s go home. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 12-09-2024 13:37:24
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