IN the centre of the new city is something like a long train of box cars—yet when you see their sides you find they are houses. As you look they grow—and from a few holes in the ground till the building is finished takes about forty-five minutes, the architects tell me. They are better built than the English Munition towns—they are unbelievable—these Cities of fifty thousand inhabitants built while the army was formed. This drawing is but a bit of one of them—to right and to left and behind the town stretched—the embodiment of usefulness, respectability—a triumph of ugliness and energy.
