At first it lacked interest, some
member of the Italian Embassy spoke, I think, and then some one from
Serbia. The audience was apathetic. All those bodies, so tightly wedged
together that arms and legs were held in an iron vice, stayed
motionless, and once and again there would be a short burst of applause
or a sibilant whisper, but it would be something mechanical and
uninspired. I could see one soldier, in the front row behind the
barrier, a stout fellow with a face of supreme good humour, down whose
forehead the sweat began to trickle; he was patient for a while, then he
tried to raise his hand. He could not move without sending a ripple down
the whole front line. Heads were turned indignantly in his direction. He
submitted; then the sweat trickled into his eyes. He made a superhuman
effort and half raised his arm; the crowd pushed again and his arm fell.
His face wore an expression of ludicrous despair....
The hall got hotter and hotter. Soldiers seemed to be still pressing in
at the back. The Italian gentleman screamed and waved his arms, but the
faces turned up to his were blank and amiably expressionless.
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