her　sister；　whom　Janet　had　seen　that　day　were　oneimmutably　one。　　This；
  then；　was　what　it　meant　to　be　a　mother！　　All　the　years　of　deadening　hope
  had　not　availed　to　kill　the　cravingeven　in　this　withered　body　it　was
  still　alive　and　quick。　　The　agony　of　that　revelation　was　scarcely　to　be
  borne。　　And　it　seemed　that　Lise；　even　in　the　place　where　she　was；　must
  have　heard　that　cry　and　heeded　it。　　And　yetthe　revelation　of　Lise's
  whereabouts；　of　Lise's　contemplated　act　Janet　had　nearly　been　goaded　into
  making；　died　on　her　lips。　　She　could　not　tell　Hannah！　　And　Lise's　child
  must　not　come　into　a　world　like　this。　　Even　now　the　conviction　remained；
  fierce；　exultant；　final。　　But　if　Janet　had　spoken　now　Hannah　would　not
  have　heard　her。　　Under　the　storm　she　had　begun　to　rock；　weeping
  convulsively。。。。　　But　gradually　her　weeping　ceased。　　And　to　Janet；
  helplessly　watching；　this　process　of　congealment　was　more　terrible　even
  than　the　release　that　only　an　unmitigated　violence　of　grief　had　been　able
  to　produce。　　In　silence　Hannah　resumed　her　shrunken　duties；　and　when
  these　were　finished　sat　awhile；　before　going　to　bed；　her　hands　lying
  listless　in　her　lap。　　She　seemed　to　have　lived　for　centuries；　to　have
  exhausted　the　gamut　of　suffering　which；　save　for　that　one　wild　outburst；
  had　been　the　fruit　of　commonplace；　passive；　sordid　tragedy　that　knows　no
  touch　of　fire。。。。
  The　next　morning　Janet　was　awakened　by　the　siren。　　Never；　even　in　the
  days　when　life　had　been　routine　and　commonplace；　had　that　sound　failed　to
  arouse　in　her　a　certain　tremor　of　fear；　with　its　first　penetrating
  shriek；　terror　invaded　her：　then；　by　degrees；　overcoming　her　numbness；
  came　an　agonizing　realization　of　tragedy　to　be　faced。　　The　siren　blew　and
  blew　insistently；　as　though　it　never　meant　to　stop；　and　now　for　the　first
  time　she　seemed　to　detect　in　it　a　note　of　futility。　　There　were　those　who
  would　dare　to　defy　it。　　She；　for　one；　would　defy　it。　　In　that　reflection
  she　found　a　certain　fierce　joy。　　And　she　might　lie　in　bed　if　she　wished
  how　often　had　she　longed　to！　　But　she　could　not。　　The　room　was　cold；
  appallingly　empty　and　silent　as　she　hurried　into　her　clothes。　　The
  dining…room　lamp　was　lighted；　the　table　set；　her　mother　was　bending　over
  the　stove　when　she　reached　the　kitchen。　　After　the　pretence　of　breakfast
  was　gone　through　Janet　sought　relief　in　housework；　making　her　bed；
  tidying　her　room。　　It　was　odd；　this　morning；　how　her　notice　of　little；
  familiar　things　had　the　power　to　add　to　her　pain；　brought　to　mind
  memories　become　excruciating　as　she　filled　the　water　pitcher　from　the
  kitchen　tap　she　found　herself　staring　at　the　nick　broken　out　of　it　when
  Lise　had　upset　it。　　She　recalled　Lise's　characteristically　flippant
  remark。　　And　there　was　the　streak　in　the　wall…paper　caused　one　night　by
  the　rain　leaking　through　the　roof。　　After　the　bed　was　made　and　the　room
  swept　she　stood　a　moment；　motionless；　and　then；　opening　the　drawer　in　the
  wardrobe　took　from　it　the　rose　which　she　had　wrapped　in　tissue　paper　and
  hidden　there；　and　with　a　perverse　desire　as　it　were　to　increase　the
  bitterness　consuming　her；　to　steep　herself　in　pain；　she　undid　the　parcel
  and　held　the　withered　flower　to　her　face。　　Even　now　a　fragrance；　faint
  yet　poignant；　clung　to　it。。。。　　She　wrapped　it　up　again；　walked　to　the
  window；　hesitated；　and　then　with　a　sudden　determination　to　destroy　this
  sole　relic　of　her　happiness　went　to　the　kitchen　and　flung　it　into　the
  stove。　　Hannah；　lingering　over　her　morning　task　of　cleaning；　did　not　seem
  to　notice　the　act。　　Janet　turned　to　her。
  〃I　think　I'll　go　out　for　a　while；　mother；〃　she　said。
  〃You'd　ought　to；〃　Hannah　replied。　　〃There's　no　use　settin'　around　here。〃
  The　silence　of　the　flat　was　no　longer　to　be　endured。　　And　Janet；　putting
  on　her　coat　and　hat；　descended　the　stairs。　　Not　once　that　morning　had　her
  mother　mentioned　Lise；　nor　had　she　asked　about　her　own　plansabout
  Ditmar。　　This　at　least　was　a　relief；　it　was　the　question　she　had　feared
  most。　　In　the　street　she　met　the　postman。
  〃I　have　a　letter　for　you；　Miss　Janet；〃　he　said。　　And　on　the　pink　envelope
  he　handed　her；　in　purple　ink；　she　recognized　the　unformed；　childish
  handwriting　of　Lise。　　〃There's　great　doings　down　at　the　City　Hall；〃　the
  postman　added　〃the　foreigners　are　holding　mass　meetings　there。〃
  Janet　scarcely　heard　him　as　she　tore　open　the　envelope。　　〃Dear　Janet；〃
  the　letter　ran。　　〃The　doctor　told　me　I　had　a　false　alarm；　there　was
  nothing　to　it。　　Wouldn't　that　jar　you？　　Boston's　a　slow　burg；　and　there's
  no　use　of　my　staying　here　now。　　I'm　going　to　New　York；　and　maybe　I'll
  come　back　when　I've　had　a　look　at　the　great　white　way。　　I've　got　the
  coin；　and　I　gave　him　the　mit　to…night。　　If　you　haven't　anything　better　to
  do；　drop　in　at　the　Bagatelle　and　give　Walters　my　love；　and　tell　them　not
  to　worry　at　home。　　There's　no　use　trying　to　trail　me。　　Your　affectionate
  sister　Lise。〃
  Janet　thrust　the　letter　in　her　pocket。　　Then　she　walked　rapidly　westward
  until　she　came　to　the　liver…coloured　faeade　of　the　City　Hall；　opposite
  the　Common。　　Pushing　through　the　crowd　of　operatives　lingering　on　the
  pavement　in　front　of　it；　she　entered　the　building。。。。
  End　of　The　Dwelling　Place　of　Light；　V2
  by　Winston　Churchill
  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
  bandstandreminiscent　of　concerts　on　sultry；　summer　nightsare　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　propagandistthe　unsuccessful　artist　with
  more　facility　than　will。　　The　nose　was　classic；　and　wanted　strength；　the
  restless　eyes　that　at　times　seemed　fixed　on　her　were　smouldering　windows
  of　a　burning　house：　the　fire　that　stirred　her　was　also　consuming　him。
  Though　he　could　have　been　little　more　than　five　and　thirty；　his　hair　was
  thinned　and　greying　at　the　temples。　　And　somehow　emblematic　of　this
  physiognomy　and　physique；　summing　it　up　and　expressing　it　in　terms　of
  apparel；　were　the　soft　collar　and　black　scarf　tied　in　a　flowing　bow。
  Janet　longed　to　know　what　he　was　saying。　　His　phrases；　like　music；　played
  on　her　emotions；　and　at　last；　when　his　voice　rose　in　crescendo　at　the
  climax　of　his　speech；　she　felt　like　weeping。
  〃Un　poeta！〃　a　woman　beside　her　exclaimed。
  〃Who　is　he？〃　Janet　asked。
  〃Rolfe；〃　said　the　woman。
  〃But　he's　an　Italian？〃
  The　woman　shrugged　her　shoulders。　　〃It　is　his　name　that　is　all　I　know。〃
  He　had　begun　to　speak　again；　and　now　in　English；　with　an　enunciation；　a
  distinctive　manner　of　turning　his　phrases　new　to　such　gatherings　in
  America；　where　labour　intellectuals　are　little　known；　surprising　to
  Janet；　diverting　her　attention；　at　first；　from　the　meaning　of　his　words。
  〃Labour；〃　she　heard；　〃labour　is　the　creator　of　all　wealth；　and　wealth
  belongs　to　the　creator。　　The　wage　system　must　be　abolished。　　You；　the
  creators；　must　do　battle　against　these　self…imposed　masters　until　you
  shall　come　into　your　own。　　You　who　toil　miserably　for　nine　hours　and
  produce；　let　us　say；　nine　dollars　of　wealthdo　you　receive　it？　　No；　what
  is　given　you　is　barely　enough　to　keep　the　slave　and　the　slave's　family
  alive！　　The　master；　the　capitalist；　seizes　the　rightful　reward　of　your
  labour　and　spends　it　on　luxuries；　on　automobiles　and　fine　houses　and
  women；　on　food　he　can't　eat；　while　you　are　hungry。　　Yes；　you　are　slaves；〃
  he　cried；　〃because　you　submit　like　slaves。〃
  He　waited；　motionless　and　scornful；　for　the　noise　to　die　down。　　〃Since　I
  have　come　here　to　Hampton；　I　have　heard　some　speak　of　the　state；　others
  of　the　unions。　　Yet　the　state　is　your　enemy；　it　will　not　help　you　to　gain
  your　freedom。　　The　legislature　has　shortened　your　hours；but　why？
  Because　the　politicians　are　afraid　of　you；　and　because　they　think　you
  will　be　content　with　a　little。　　And　now　that　the　masters　have　cut　your
  wages；　the　state　sends　its　soldiers　to　crush　you。　　Only　fifty　cents；　they
  sayonly　fifty　cents　most　of　you　miss　from　your　envelopes。　　What　is
  fifty　cents　to　them？　　But　I　who　speak　to　you　have　been　hungry；　I　know
  that　fifty　cents　will　buy　ten　loaves　of　bread；　or　three　pounds　of　the
  neck　of　pork；　or　six　quarts　of　milk　for　the　babies。　　Fifty　cents　will
  help　pay　the　rent　of　the　rat…holes　where　you　live。〃　　Once　more