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 aflame. She seemed to stop for an instant, to pause and to shudder. Then she dipped nose forward and fell earthwards, at first slowly, and then headlong.

During this time, standing on the high roof of the factory, one had forgotten London, thinking of it as lying asleep. But now there came from below that most moving of all sounds on earth, perhaps more moving than the sound of the sea, the mighty shout of innumerable voices under one universal impulse. People everywhere were cheering. Near and far their cheers came in short, sharp cracks, like the splashes of breakers, and then in long, low, far-off, rolling waves. It was just as if the great city London itself were uttering its cry of relief and joy.

I trust I shall not be blamed for attempting to describe a scene which I have twice witnessed (a scene which has occurred three times this autumn, with unimportant variations, in nearly every great munition factory in the London area, and outside of it), if only for the sake of the object