“Freder, the engine can’t keep up that speed....” “Go on....” “I do not know how it happened that the girl ran into their hands. I was on my way to you when I saw a woman running across the cathedral square, with her hair flying, the roaring rabble behind her. There has been the very hell of a night anyway. The Gothics are parading through the town scourging themselves, and they have put the monk Desertus on the cross. They are preaching: Doomsday had come, and it seems that they have converted a good many already, for September is crouching before the smoking ruins of Yoshiwara. A troop of torch dancers joined itself to the flagellants and, with frothing curses upon the Mother of Abominations, the great whore of Babylon, they burned Yoshiwara down to the ground....” “The girl, Josaphat—” “She did not reach the cathedral, Freder, where she wanted to take refuge. They overtook her on the steps because she fell on the steps—her gown hung down in ribbons from her body. A woman, whose white eyes were glowing with insanity shrieked out, as one inspired with the gift of prophecy: “‘Look—! Look—! The saints have climbed down from their pedestals and will not let the witch into the cathedral.’” “And—” “Before the cathedral they are erecting a bonfire on which to burn the witch....” Freder said nothing. He bent down lower. The car groaned and leapt. Josaphat buried his hand in Freder’s arm. “Stop—for God’s sake!!!” The car stopped. “We must go to the left—don’t you see? The bridge has gone!” “The next bridge?” “Is impassable!” “Listen....” “What is there to hear—” “Don’t you hear anything?” “No....” “You _must_ hear it—!” “But what, Freder—?” “Shrieks ... distant shrieks....” “I can’t hear anything....” “But you _must_ be able to hear it—!!” “Won’t you drive on, Freder?” “And don’t you see that the air over there is getting bright red?” “From the torches, Freder....” “They don’t burn so brightly....” “Freder, we’re losing time here—!” Freder did not answer. He was staring at the tatters of the iron bridge which were dangling down into the ravine of the street. He must cross over, yes, he must cross over, to get to the cathedral by a short cut.... The frame-support of a ripped-open tower had fallen over from this side of the street to the other, gleaming metallically in the uncertain light of the fading night. “Get out,” said Freder. “Why?” “Get out, I tell you....” “I want to know why?” “Because I’m going across there....” “Across where?” “Across the frame-support.” “Going to drive across—?” “Yes.” “It’s suicide, Freder!” “I didn’t ask you to accompany me. Get out!” “I won’t permit it—it’s blazing lunacy!” “The fire over there is blazing, man—!” The words seemed not to come from Freder’s mouth. Every wound of the dying city seemed to be roaring out of him. “Drive on!” said Josaphat through clenched teeth.