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In London

           ThesoundofdrummingandtrumpetingcamefromtheAlbanyStreetBarracks,andeverychurchwithinearshotwashardatworkkillingsleepwithavehementdisorderlytocsin. Therewasanoiseofdoorsopening,andwindowafterwindowinthehousesoppositeflashedfromdarknessintoyellowillumination. 

           Upthestreetcamegallopingaclosedcarriage,burstingabruptlyintonoiseatthecorner,risingtoaclatteringclimaxunderthewindow,anddyingawayslowlyinthedistance. Closeontherearofthiscameacoupleofcabs,theforerunnersofalongprocessionofflyingvehicles,goingforthemostparttoChalkFarmstation,wheretheNorth-Westernspecialtrainswereloadingup,insteadofcomingdownthegradientintoEuston. 

           Foralongtimemybrotherstaredoutofthewindowinblankastonishment,watchingthepolicemenhammeringatdoorafterdoor,anddeliveringtheirincomprehensiblemessage. Thenthedoorbehindhimopened,andthemanwholodgedacrossthelandingcamein,dressedonlyinshirt,trousers,andslippers,hisbraceslooseabouthiswaist,hishairdisorderedfromhispillow. 

           "Whatthedevilisit?"heasked."Afire?Whatadevilofarow!" 

           Theybothcranedtheirheadsoutofthewindow,strainingtohearwhatthepolicemenwereshouting. Peoplewerecomingoutofthesidestreets,andstandingingroupsatthecornerstalking. 

           "Whatthedevilisitallabout?"saidmybrother’sfellowlodger. 

           Mybrotheransweredhimvaguelyandbegantodress,runningwitheachgarmenttothewindowinordertomissnothingofthegrowingexcitement. Andpresentlymensellingunnaturallyearlynewspaperscamebawlingintothestreet: 

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Roboto Lora
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