United States or Mauritius ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Stop all work," and a swarthy hunchback, ridiculously gay in green and gold, came leaping down the platforms toward him, bawling again and again in good English, "This is Ostrog's doing, Ostrog, the Knave! The Master is betrayed." His voice was hoarse and a thin foam dropped from his ugly shouting mouth.
When we left, the dancing resumed and was kept up till a late hour that night. We noticed another national dance at Ostrog. A much more barbaric performance than the stately and solemn movement of the ring dance, or kolo. In this case two performers dance at a time, a man and a woman. A small ring is made by the spectators, who also supply the relay couples.
In a moment Graham understood that the thing had grounded in order that Ostrog might escape by it. He saw a blue haze climbing out of the gulf, perceived that the people below him were now firing up at the projecting stem.
"They can't come down," panted Ostrog. "They daren't fire. It's all right." "We'll save him from them yet." For long minutes as it seemed to Graham that inglorious struggle continued. His clothes were rent in a dozen places, he was covered in dust, one hand had been trodden upon. He could hear the shouts of his supporters, and once he heard shots.
He heard the man beside him exclaim "Ostrog," and turned to ask a question. But he never did, because of the startled exclamation of another of those who were with him and a lank finger suddenly pointing. He looked, and behold the aeropile that had been rising from the flying stage when last he had looked in that direction, was driving towards them.
He had a glimpse of someone running in the distance towards the curtains of the antechamber, and then Ostrog had slipped from him and these newcomers were upon him. To his infinite astonishment, they seized him. They obeyed the shouts of Ostrog. He was lugged a dozen yards before he realised that they were not friends that they were dragging him towards the open panel.
I've followed it all." "Rejected whom?" said Graham. "The Sleeper?" "Sleeper? No. Ostrog. He was terrible terrible! And he was promised then, promised certainly the next time. Fools they were not to be more afraid of him. Now all the city's his millstone, and such as we dust ground upon it. Dust ground upon it.
"The Council has surrendered. Its rule is at an end for evermore." "Look!" and Ostrog pointed to a coil of black that crept in little jerks up the vacant flagstaff, unfolding as it rose. The oval picture paled as Lincoln pulled the curtain aside and entered. "They are clamourous," he said. Ostrog kept his grip of Graham's arm. "We have raised the people," he said. "We have given them arms.
Abruptly it was perfectly clear to him that this revolt against Ostrog was premature, foredoomed to failure, the impulse of passionate inadequacy against inevitable things. He thought of that swift flight of aeroplanes like the swoop of Fate towards him. He was astonished that he could have seen things in any other light.
"And there is an optical contrivance we shall use," said Ostrog, "used by some of the posturers and women dancers. It may be novel to you. You stand in a very bright light, and they see not you but a magnified image of you thrown on a screen so that even the furtherest man in the remotest gallery can, if he chooses, count your eyelashes."
Word Of The Day