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Updated: June 4, 2025
He wished some of those confounded armchair critics of railway management could have seen it. By five o'clock that evening this amazing Cossar, with no appearance of hurry at all, had got all the stuff for his fight with insurgent Bigness out of Urshot and on the road to Hickleybrow.
"Them big rats is nuts on 'orses," the trolley driver kept on repeating. Cossar surveyed the controversy for a moment. "Get the things out of that waggonette," he said, and one of his men, a tall, fair, dirty engineer, obeyed. "Gimme that shot gun," said Cossar. He placed himself between the drivers. "We don't want you to drive," he said.
After our attack had been withdrawn. This afternoon they began to bombard London " "That's legitimate!" "They have been firing shells filled with poison." "Poison?" "Yes. Poison. The Food " "Herakleophorbia?" "Yes, Sir. Mr. Caterham, Sir " "You are beaten! Of course that beats you. It's Cossar I What can you hope to do now? What good is it to do anything now?
There had been hints of that In the election speeches. And then? No doubt they had got Cossar also? Caterham was a religious man. Redwood clung to that. The back of his mind was a black curtain, and on that curtain there came and went a word a word written in letters of fixe. He struggled perpetually against that word.
It was to the photographs that Redwood went, and in particular to the photographs of his son. They brought back countless memories of things that had passed out of his mind, of the early days of the Food, of Bensington's timid presence, of his cousin Jane, of Cossar and the night work at the Experimental Farm.
It was in darkness save for the passing reflections of the watchman's searchlights that whirled perpetually high overhead, and for a red glow that came and went from a distant corner where two Giants worked together amidst a metallic clangour. Against the sky, as the glare came about, his eye caught the familiar outlines of the old worksheds and playsheds that were made for the Cossar boys.
"Give 'em these," said Cossar. "One at a time." These things Redwood arranged in a locker in one corner.
Once a yellow-striped monster dropped towards them and hung for a space watching them with its great compound eyes, but at an ineffectual shot from Cossar it darted off again. Down in a corner of the field, away to the right, several were crawling about over some ragged bones that were probably the remains of the lamb the rats had brought from Huxter's Farm.
"We'll have a scheme before long, little boy," cried Cossar, hands to his mouth as he shouted, "never fear. For a bit you'd better play about and make models of the things you want to do." They did as he told them like obedient sons. But for all that the Cossar lads brooded a little.
They went forward through the rank exaggerated weeds and skirted the body of the second dead rat. They were extended in a bunchy line, each man with his gun pointing forward, and they peered about them in the clear moonlight for some crumpled, ominous shape, some crouching form. They found the gun of the man who had run away very speedily. "Flack!" cried Cossar. "Flack!"
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