“There have been other times,” he said a little sadly. Amid this tumult, several men armed with tremendous bludgeons, with their faces besmeared with grease and soot, and otherwise disguised, were observed to be urging the populace to attempt a rescue. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. Jack looked towards the door. She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite.
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