With intellect”—as a thin steel wire drawn tight
By an iron winch, the hush grew tense and rang
Low, hard, clear, cold—“is not a fitting place
For this discussion.”
Silence, and the clock,
Two great allies, the surest of them all,
Dead silence, and the voice Not Yet, Not Yet,
A cough, the creak of the chair as he sat down,
A shuffle of feet, the chairman’s baffled face,
Then little indignant mutterings round the hall,