By: Valery Bryusov

They fled in fright to the outskirts of the town.

By: J.D. Beresford

“So elementary… inchoate… a disjunctive… patchwork”

By: Valery Bryusov

Everyone fled who could.

By: J.D. Beresford

“Books,” he said.

By: Valery Bryusov

Life was standardised even to the most minute details.

By: J.D. Beresford

“What should I learn out of all them books?”

By: Valery Bryusov

The number of working hours in the day were small in the extreme.

By: J.D. Beresford

“‘Oo is God?”

By: H.G. Wells

“Smart degenerates,” he muttered. “Anæmic cockneydom.”

By: J.D. Beresford

“Didn’t you have a little of the ‘fifth form’ feeling?”

By: H.G. Wells

They despised their bawling patriotisms…

By: J.D. Beresford

“When ’e first looked at me, I near ’ad a faint.”

By: H.G. Wells

The rifleman stood up in his pitch-dark chamber…

By: J.D. Beresford

“’E’s got more sense than a ordinary child.”

By: H.G. Wells

For a moment it seemed splendid and then it seemed horrible.