The girl stood bolt upright in the neck of the multitude. She began to totter. It seemed as though she would fall—fall over on to her white face in which the blood-red mouth—the mouth of deadly sin, flamed like hell-fire. But she did not fall. She held herself upright. She swayed slightly, but she held herself upright. She stretched out her arm and pointed at Freder, calling in a voice which sounded like glass: “Look—! Look—! The son of Joh Fredersen—! The son of Joh Fredersen is among you—!” The multitude shouted. The multitude hurled itself around. The multitude made to lay hold of the son of Joh Fredersen. He did not resist. He stood pressed against the wall. He stared at the girl with a gaze in which belief in eternal damnation was to be read. It seemed as if he were already dead, and as though his lifeless body were falling, ghost-like upon the fists of those who wished to murder him. A voice roared: “Dog in white-silken skin—!!” An arm shot up, a knife flashed out.... Upon the billowing neck of the multitude stood the girl. It was as if the knife came flying from out her eyes.... But, before the knife could plunge into the white silk which covered the heart of the son of Joh Fredersen, a man threw himself as a shield before his breast, and the knife ripped open blue linen. Blue linen was dyed purple-red.... “Brothers...!” said the man. Dying, yet standing upright, he was covering the son of Joh Fredersen with his whole body. He turned his head a little to catch Freder’s glance. He said with a smile which was transfigured in pain: “Brothers....” Freder recognised him. It was Georgi. It was number eleven thousand eight hundred and eleven which was now going out, and which, going out, was protecting him. He wanted to push past Georgi. But the dying man stood like one crucified, with outstretched arms and hands clawing into the edge of the niches which were behind him. He held his eyes, which were like jewels, fixedly set on the multitude which was storming towards him. “Brothers ...” he said. “He said: ‘Murderers.... Brother murderers ...’” said the dying mouth. The multitude left him alone and raced on. On the shoulders of the multitude the girl was dancing and singing. She sang with her blood-red mouth of deadly sin! “We’ve passed sentence upon the machines! We have condemned the machines to death! The machines must die—to hell with them! Death!—Death!—Death to the machines—!” * * * * * Like the rush of a thousand wings the step of the multitude thundered through the narrow passages of the City of the Dead. The girl’s voice died away. The steps died away. Georgi loosened his hands and pitched forward. Freder caught him. He sank upon his knee. Georgi’s head fell upon his breast. “Warn ... warn ... the town ...” said Georgi.