“Bertrand beaten?,” I cried. “That’s been a safe radical seat for fifty years!”
“Where are the English papers?,” O’Rane asked.
“It must have been an odd election if he couldn’t get in,” said Hornbeck.
Thanks to our isolation, I think we were all taken equally by surprise. As I read out the strength of the new parties, our tranquil garden became like a stricken field the day after battle. For a time we tried to count the dead; then we found it simpler to hunt for the living.
“Runciman’s gone!,” I cried. “McKenna’s gone . . .” Then the tragedy changed to farce. “Asquith’s gone!”
Laurence caught the paper from my hand:
“Coalition-liberal . . . Coalition-liberal . . . Coalition-unionist.” . . .
“The old liberal party’s dead!,” I exclaimed. “There’s a handful of independents.” . . .
“Ireland, except in the north, has gone solid for Sinn Fein,” Hornbeck read out over my shoulder.
“Labour will be the biggest single party in the House,” said Laurence.