第22章
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中
大
scrawleduponawallwithhisfingersdippedinmuddywine-lees
BLOOD.
Thetimewastocome,whenthatwinetoowouldbespilledon
thestreet-stones,andwhenthestainofitwouldbereduponmany
there.
AndnowthatthecloudsettledonSaintAntoine,whicha
momentarygleamhaddrivenfromhissacredcountenance,the
darknessofitwasheavycold,dirt,sickness,ignorance,and
want,werethelordsinwaitingonthesaintlypresencenoblesof
greatpowerallofthembut,mostespeciallythelast.Samplesofa
peoplethathadundergoneaterriblegrindingandregrindingin
themill,andcertainlynotinthefabulousmillwhichgroundold
peopleyoung,shiveredateverycorner,passedinandoutatevery
doorway,lookedfromeverywindow,flutteredineveryvestigeofa
garmentthatthewindshook.Themillwhichhadworkedthem
down,wasthemillthatgrindsyoungpeopleoldthechildrenhad
ancientfacesandgravevoicesanduponthem,anduponthe
grownfaces,andploughedintoeveryfurr