Ominous hours had come and gone; waves of gloom had surged in and
receded, but never receded far enough. It was as though the rising and
falling of some prim*** storm was the background of all thought and
life and its pandemonium of sound foretold the far-off heaving of some
vast tidal wave, gathering its unearthly power as it swelled.
Coombe talking to his close friend in her few quiet hours at Eaton
Square, found a support in the very atmosphere surrounding her.
"The world at war creates a prehistoric uproar," he said. "The earth
called out of chaos to take form may have produced some such tempestuous
crash. But there is a far-off glow--"
"You believe--something--I believe too. But the prehistoric darkness and
uproar are so appalling. One loses hold." The Duchess leaned forwar
