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. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. And, come what will, I'll balk him of the satisfaction of hanging me. I done just what you asked. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 05-07-2024 15:22:37
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