Beat your sword into a ploughshare if you like, but beat your enemy into smithereens first." A long-drawn cry, repeated again and again, detached itself from the throb and hoot and whir of the street traffic.
"Speshul! Military service, spesh-ul!" The young clergyman sprang from his seat and went up the staircase in a succession of bounds, causing the domino players and novelette readers to look up for a moment in mild astonishment.

In a few seconds he was back again, with a copy of an afternoon paper.

The Imperial Rescript was set forth in heavy type, in parallel columns of English and German.

As the young man read a deep burning flush spread over his face, then ebbed away into a chalky whiteness.

He read the announcement to the end, then handed the paper to Yeovil, and left without a word.
Beneath the courtly politeness and benignant phraseology of the document ran a trenchant searing irony.