Delighted that Hallam had been so generous with his scanty force, Robert slowed down to exchange greetings; but the greeting died on his lips. Along the full length of the tall brick wall, in letters nearly six feet high was splashed a slogan. "FASCISTS!" screamed the large white capitals. And again on the further side of the gate: "FASCISTS!"
"Move along, please," the Force said, approaching the staring Robert with slow, polite menace. "No stopping here."
Robert got slowly out of the car.
"Oh, Mr. Blair. Didn't recognise you, sir. Sorry."
"Is it whitewash?"
"No, sir; best quality paint."
"Great Heavens!"
"Some people never grow out of it."
"Out of what?"
"Writing things on walls. There's one thing: they might have written something worse."