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. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. "Remember the devil!" retorted Terence, who had recovered his natural audacity.
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