THE DWELLING-PLACE OF LIGHT

By WINSTON CHURCHILL


Volume 3.




CHAPTER XV

Occasionally the art of narrative may be improved by borrowing the method
of the movies. Another night has passed, and we are called upon to
imagine the watery sunlight of a mild winter afternoon filtering through
bare trees on the heads of a multitude. A large portion of Hampton Common
is black with the people of sixteen nationalities who have gathered
there, trampling down the snow, to listen wistfully and eagerly to a new
doctrine of salvation. In the centre of this throng on the
bandstand--reminiscent of concerts on sultry, summer nights--are the
itinerant apostles of the cult called Syndicalism, exhorting by turns in
divers tongues. Antonelli had spoken, and many others, when Janet,
impelled by a craving not to be denied, had managed to push her way
little by little from the outskirts of the crowd until now she stood
almost beneath the orator who poured forth passionate words in a language
she recognized as Italian. Her curiosity was aroused, she was unable to
classify this tall man whose long and narrow face was accentuated by a
pointed brown beard, whose lips gleamed red as he spoke, whose slim hands
were eloquent. The artist as propagandist--the unsuccessful artist with
more facility than will. The nose was classic, and wanted strength; the