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. ‘Alors, I see how is this. Oh, you cannot escape from it. She wanted to be alone. . “I know. ‘Civilian peace-keeping forces, you know. White?” she asked, laughing. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. I waited for them to get right out of the grounds. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. Even, I do not mind to study this Latin so abominable.
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