He thought he must be back in the bedroom behind the cycle shop at the bottom of Bun Hill, and he was sure the vision he had had of the destruction of a magnificent city, a city quite incredibly great and splendid, by means of bombs, was no more than a particularly vivid dream.
“Grubb!” he called, anxious to tell him.
The answering silence, and the dull resonance of the locker to his voice, supplementing the stifling quality of the air, set going a new train of ideas. He lifted up his hands and feet, and met an inflexible resistance. He was in a coffin, he thought! He had been buried alive! He gave way at once to wild panic. “‘Elp!” he screamed. “‘Elp!” and drummed with his feet, and kicked and struggled. “Let me out! Let me out!”
For some seconds he struggled with this intolerable horr
