Читать книгу Old Wine and New - Warwick Deeping - Страница 19

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The eyes of Florence Marwood also saw a new world in its moment of frenzy, though it was but part of a world, and neither new nor old. Some of London celebrated. It had a silly, drunken, howling countenance. It surged and shouted and screamed, and laughed. Lights, lights, let there be lights! And there were lights and there were shadows, a hustling humanity, and overhead a canopy of darkness, and no angels from Mons. The London crowd called for reality in the flesh; the war had shot angelic pinions to pieces.

Up aloft that aerie figure in bronze, poised above this pageant of a new paganism, seemed to be preparing for flight. So had the old gods looked upon Rome and fled. Who were these new barbarians, these new English? Democracy drinking to itself, and to a world fit for heroes?

Julia’s mother laughed. She laughed perpetually, and waggled her hips. She was but a part of this hot, surging mass, this blur of bodies. She was wearing the Australian’s hat, and the soldier had hers crammed on the back of his head. They sidled and oozed through the crowd with their arms round each other, pushing and being pushed, rejoicing in the proud flesh of victory.

Her prophetic mouth screamed strange verities. She did not speak; she screamed.

“This is a bust up of all the blasted old humbug. Where are all the b—— y padres?”

The Australian kissed her brutally.

“Yes, this old war has let in air. We know what’s what. Gosh, you smell nice.”

There was a sudden surging of the crowd, and they were carried with it toward a vortex where the new world was letting itself go. There were screams, laughter, confusion. People pushed and peered and asked questions. “What’s on. What’s the rag?” The Australian forced his way through, like a strong animal in a cattle pen, and with Marwood’s widow attached to him. His face smiled a cruel, icy smile.

“Gosh!”

“What’s on?”

He heaved his way further, roughly, scornfully. He had a glimpse of a half-naked woman, and of other women.

“What’s on?”

“Go it, girls. Leave nothing on.”

“What’s happening?”

“The totties are scragging one of the women police.”

Marwood’s wife let out a scream of laughter. Her face was exultant.

“That’s lovely. Pity it’s not my —— of a daughter. She’s a sort of she-bobby. We’re teaching the world something, Cobber. Where are the dear padres?”