Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. “It’s not for us to supplicate any more. ’ He glanced about and saw his quarry holding court at one end of the vast mirrored chamber. His blood would be sweet with it. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard. Wood in a sharp tone. 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. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact.
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