He was a tall
lean man, hatless and collarless, greyhaired and wild-eyed. On he
came, gesticulating gauntly, past the hotel.
And then up the street something happened. Benham's attention was
turned round to it by a checking, by a kind of catch in the breath,
on the part of the advancing procession under the verandah.
The roadway beyond the club had suddenly become clear. Across it a
dozen soldiers had appeared and dismounted methodically and lined
out, with their carbines in readiness. The mounted men at the club
corner had vanished, and the people there had swayed about towards
this new threat. Quite abruptly the miscellaneous noises of the
crowd ceased. Understanding seized upon every one.
These soldiers were going to fire. . . .
The brown uniformed figures moved like automata; the rifle shots
rang out almost in one report. . . .
There was a rush in the crowd towards doorways and side streets, an
enquiring pause, the darting back of a number of individuals into
the roadway and then a derisive shouting. Nobody had been hit.
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