But was it any more grotesquely absurd than the opposition, the counter-phrases, in praise of democracy, of the mob?
The voice of the people is the voice of God.
The same grotesque bigotry, the same fanatical intolerance, spoke there.
Happily people were growing chary of using such phrases. They had been too often used as a cloak to hide personal prejudices and passions, to be trusted much longer.
Still, perhaps, the band was playing—somewhere—
At that moment, the King suddenly realized that the driver of the taxi-cab, immediately behind him, in the queue of waiting traffic, was performing a strident obligato on his motor horn, which indicated, unmistakably, the violence of despair. Looking down with a start, he became aware, that unnoticed by him in his reverie, the block in the traffic had cleared, that the road lay open before him, and that he was holding up the long line of vehicles behind him, by his absence of mind, and consequent delay.
The policeman on point duty smiled at him, reproachfully, as he succeeded, at last, in catching his eye, and then waved him forward.
Flushing with momentary annoyance, at the absurdity of his position, the King hastily let out the car once again.
The car leapt forward, swept round the square, and so passed into, and up, Charing Cross Road, into Tottenham Court Road beyond—
The car was heading due north now, due north for Paradise—