Crazy Radio eBooks

When he was beneath the dome, and could see the light gleaming upon
the wings of the pointing angels, Artois seemed to be aware of an
individual step among the many feet behind him, a step soft, furtive,
and obstinate, that followed him like a fate's. He glanced up at the
angels. A melancholy and half-bitter smile came to his lips. Then he
turned to the right and made his way still slowly towards the Via
Roma, always crowded from the early afternoon until late into the
night. As he went, as he pushed through the mob of standing men at the
entrance of the Galleria, and crossed the street to the far side, from
which innumerable narrow and evil-looking alleys stretch away into the
darkness up the hill, the influence of the following old woman
increased upon him, casting upon him like a mist her hateful
eagerness. He desired to be rid of it, and, quickening his walk, he
turned into the first alley he came to, walked a little way up it,
until he was in comparative solitude and obscurity, then stopped and
abruptly turned.


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