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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"The Voice in the Fog"


"Roll 'im, ol' sport? Caught in th' act, huh?" gibed the waiter.
Thomas had the right idea. He struck first. The waiter crashed
against the wall. The hulking, shifty-eyed one fared worse. He went
down with his face to the cracks in the floor. Thomas dashed for the
exit.


CHAPTER V
Outside he found himself in a kind of court. He ran about wildly, like
a rat in a trap. He plumped into the alley, accidentally. Down this
he fled, into the street. A voice called out peremptorily to him to
stop, but he went on all the faster, swift as a hare. He doubled and
circled through this street and that until at last he came out into a
broad, brilliant thoroughfare. An iron-pillared railway reared itself
skyward and trains clamored past. Bloomsbury: millions of years and
miles away! He would wake up presently, with the sunlight (when it
shone) pouring into his room, and the bright geraniums on the outside
window-sill bidding him good morning.
He was on the point of rushing up the station stairway, when he espied
a cab at the far corner.


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