CHAPTER XIV. FROM THE STARS DOWN
Sometimes, and even after this interval of time, I still dream of those figures flying across the empty Circus driven by the storm. The omnibuses are there, but filled with inquiring eyes, while a skeleton policeman, his hand one huge white glove, stands, arm outstretched, and all the lights of a maddened world dance like flies upon the dark walls of the houses.
Overhead the black clouds pile as though they would presently crash down upon this waiting, dying world. The little running figures are manikins rushing to hide in any dark hole that offers--and they know that they are too late.
This dream has woven its pattern into my waking life too, and Helen also has not escaped it.
I return here, however, to the moment when, myself pursuing Hench, I saw fir
