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The Slave of the Lamp by Henry Seton Merriman
page 30 of 314 (09%)
men went out together into the dimly-lighted street.




CHAPTER III


WITHOUT REST


Half-way down Fleet Street, on the left-hand side, stands the church of
St. Dunstan-in-the-West. Around its grimy foundations there seethes a
struggling, toiling race of men--not only from morning till night, but
throughout the twenty-four hours. Within sound of this church bell a
hundred printing-presses throb out their odorous broadsheets to be
despatched to every part of the world. Day and night, week in week out,
the human writing-machines, and those other machines which are almost
human (and better than human in some points) hurry through their
allotted tasks, and ignore the saintly shadow cast upon them by the
spire of St. Dunstan. This is indeed the centre of the world: the hub
from whence spring the spokes of the vast wheel of life. For to this
point all things over the world converge by a vast web of wire,
railroad, coach road, and steamer track. Upon wings that boast of
greater speed than the wind can compass come to this point the voices of
our kin in farthest lands. News--news--news. News from the East of
events occurring in the afternoon--scan it over and flash it westward,
where it will be read on the morning of the same day! News in every
tongue to be translated and brought into shape--while the solemn church
clock tells his tale in deep voice, audible above the din and scurry.
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