'The reign of the Beast! The reign of the Beast! The reign of the Beast!' Now he was walking once more through unknown streets, walking wildly, so that people turned to look after him, and policemen watched him with professional glances. He did not notice the streets; he did not see people or police. He was moving at a racing pace, in a north-easterly direction. His eyes were now blazing with the light of fever. That carnival of the Beast lay behind him; its sounds were in his ears. If he looked back he knew he should behold its sight once more. Anything was better than that. On, on, on! His face was flushed; the sweat rolled down his forehead; he was all bespattered with mud. If he met a group on the pathway he did not try to get through it, he sprang out into the roadway. In the neighbourhood of the Cattle Market he got into a blind street. When he reached the end he cast his eyes up at the wall, as though he were about to try to scale it. He stamped with impatience when he found he must retrace his steps. When he turned around he ran to the end of the street, and when he had cleared it walked, at his former high rate of speed, in a less northerly direction. To pause was to think; to think was to be lost. When he paused to think, he should come upon some idea more unendurable than those now haunting him. That final thought must be avoided at any hazard, any cost, On, in God's name, on! The clamour of that hideous rite of the Beasts was in his ears. He heard them chatter and jabber; he heard them still breaking up the last fragments of that noble temple, that superb palace, built by the love and faith and enduring self-sacrifice of ages. He could not hear the words they uttered, but they were appalling, like human words. He could hear them singing and clamouring around their hideous god! Ugh! 'On, on, on! Kill thought; dull those odious sounds in the clatter of one's feet, the beatings of one's heart. On, in God's name, on! Bride Street, Albion Road, Holloway Road, St Paul's Road, Grosvenor Road, Newington Green Road, Albion Road, Albion Grove, Victoria Road, Church Road; then to the right, then to the left, then to the left again. 'It is getting dark. Where am I?' It was not until night had begun to fall he asked that question of himself. He stood awhile to get breath; he wiped his forehead, and leaned against a lamp-post for support. The strain upon his physique began to tell now, and he felt a little exhausted. It was close upon five o'clock. After a few moments he stopped a passer-by, and asked,-- 'What street is this?' 'London Road.' 'London Road! Can that be? Have I completed the circle--have I walked all the way round? But no; this is not the same place--I have not recrossed the river. Are you quite sure this is London Road?' 'Oh, perfectly sure; I live here. There is another London Road--at least, I know of one other; there may be several. Pray, where did you start from?'