The chance of any one person being hit by a bomb was one in several millions.

But even with such generous odds in their favor, during the days the bomb-dropping lasted many thousands fled.

They were obsessed by that one chance against them.

In my hotel in Paris my landlady had her mind fixed on that one chance, and regularly every afternoon when the aeroplanes were expected she would go to bed.

Just as regularly her husband would take a pair of opera-glasses and in the Rue de la Paix hopefully scan the sky.
One afternoon while we waited in front of Cook's an aeroplane sailed overhead, but so far above us that no one knew whether it was a French air-ship scouting or a German one preparing to launch a bomb.