The very pictures shook in their frames.
One old man in a white beard continued to cry, over and over again,
"Firearms are not our weapons... bullets are not our weapons. It's the
Peace of God, the Peace of God that we need."
One lady (a handsome Jewess) jumped up from her chair, and standing
before us all recited a kind of chant, of which I only caught sentences
once, and again:
"Russia must redeem the world from its sin... this slaughter must be
slayed... Russia the Saviour of the world... this slaughter must be
slayed."
I had for some time been watching Bohun. He had travelled a long journey
since that original departure from England in December; but I was not
sure whether he had travelled far enough to forget his English terror of
making a fool of himself. Apparently he had.... He said, his voice
shaking a little, blushing as he spoke:
"What about Germany?"
The lady in the middle of the floor turned upon him furiously:
"Germany! Germany will learn her lesson from us. When we lay down our
arms her people, too, will lay down theirs."
"Supposing she doesn't?"
The interest of the room was now centred on him, and every one else was
silent.
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