that difficulty and took Graham into the premises of the central post-office. The post-office was nominally at work, but the blue-clothed porters moved
sluggishly or had stopped to stare through the arches of their galleries at the shouting men who were going by outside. “Every man to his ward! Every man to
his ward!” Here, by Asano’s advice, Graham revealed his identity.
They crossed to the Council House by a cable cradle. Already in the brief interval since the capitulation of the Councillors a great change had been wrought in the appearance of the ruins. The spurting cascades of the ruptured sea-water mains had been captured and tamed, and huge temporary pipes ran overhead along a flimsy looking fabric of girders. The sky was laced with restored cables and wires that served the Counc
