{"product_id":"2940013681316","title":"The People of the Ruins","description":"Arising out of this discovery a stream of possibilities troubled the\u003cbr\u003estill somewhat confused processes of his mind. Either Mrs. Watkins for\u003cbr\u003esome unaccountable reason had failed to arrive, or else, contrary to\u003cbr\u003ehis emphatic and often repeated instructions, she had been perfunctory\u003cbr\u003ein knocking at his door and had not stayed for an answer. In either\u003cbr\u003ecase it was annoying; but Mrs. Watkins' arrival at half-past seven was\u003cbr\u003eso fixed a point in the day, she was so regular, so trustworthy, and,\u003cbr\u003emoreover, life without her ministrations was so unthinkable that the\u003cbr\u003efirst possibility seemed much the less possible of the two. When\u003cbr\u003eJeremy had thus exhausted the field of speculation he rose and went\u003cbr\u003eout of his room to speak sharply to Mrs. Watkins. His intention of\u003cbr\u003eseverity was a little belied by the genial grotesqueness of his short\u003cbr\u003eand rather broad figure in dressing-gown and pyjamas; but he hoped\u003cbr\u003ethat he looked a disciplinarian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMrs. Watkins, however, was not there. The flat was silent and\u003cbr\u003ecompletely empty. The blinds were drawn over the sitting-room windows,\u003cbr\u003eand stirred faintly as he opened the door. He passed into the kitchen,\u003cbr\u003ebut not hopefully, for as a rule his ear told him without mistake when\u003cbr\u003ethe charwoman was to be found there. As he had expected, she was not\u003cbr\u003ethere, nor yet in the bathroom. There was a quite uncanny silence\u003cbr\u003eeverywhere, so strange and yet at the same time so reminiscent of\u003cbr\u003esomething that eluded his memory, that Jeremy paused a moment, head\u003cbr\u003elifted in air, trying to analyze its effect on him. He ascribed it at\u003cbr\u003elast to the obvious cause of Mrs. Watkins' absence at this unusually\u003cbr\u003elate hour; and he went further into the bathroom, whence he could see,\u003cbr\u003ewith a little craning of the neck, the clock on St. Andrew's Church in\u003cbr\u003eHolborn. This last testimony confirmed that of his watch. He returned\u003cbr\u003eto the sitting-room, struggling half-consciously in his mind with a\u003cbr\u003equite irrational feeling, for which he could not account, that it was\u003cbr\u003ea Sunday. He knew very well that it was a Tuesday---Tuesday, the 18th\u003cbr\u003eof April, in the year 1924.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen he came into the sitting-room he drew back the blinds and let in\u003cbr\u003ethe full morning light, and by its aid he surveyed unfavorably his\u003cbr\u003eovercoat lying where he had thrown it the night before, coming in late\u003cbr\u003efrom a party. He looked also with some disgust at the glass from which\u003cbr\u003ehe had drunk a last unnecessary whisky and soda previous to going to\u003cbr\u003ebed. Then he paddled back wearily with bare feet to the narrow kitchen\u003cbr\u003e(a cupboard containing a gas-stove and a smaller cupboard), set a\u003cbr\u003ekettle on to boil, and began the always laborious process of bathing,\u003cbr\u003eshaving, and dressing. At the end he shirked making tea, or boiling an\u003cbr\u003eegg, and he sat down discontentedly to another whisky, in the same\u003cbr\u003eglass, and a piece of stale bread.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs he consumed this unsuitable meal he remembered his appointment for\u003cbr\u003eone o'clock that day, and hoped with a sudden devoutness that the\u003cbr\u003e'buses would be running after all. It was no joke to go from Holborn\u003cbr\u003eto Whitechapel High Street on foot. But a young and rather aggressive\u003cbr\u003eSocialist whom he had unwillingly met at that party had predicted with\u003cbr\u003econfidence a strike of busmen some time during the evening. Certainly\u003cbr\u003eJeremy had had to walk all the way home from Chelsea, a thing he much\u003cbr\u003edisliked, but then perhaps by that time the buses had stopped running\u003cbr\u003ein the ordinary course...They did stop running, those Chelsea\u003cbr\u003e'buses--a horrid place--at an ungodly early hour, he was not quite\u003cbr\u003esure what. But then he was not quite sure at what time he had started\u003cbr\u003ehome...he was not really sure of anything that had happened towards\u003cbr\u003ethe end of the party. He remembered long, devastating arguments in the\u003cbr\u003eearlier part about Anarchism, Socialism, Syndicalism, Bolshevism, and\u003cbr\u003esome other doctrines, the names of which were formed on the same\u003cbr\u003eanalogy, but which were too novel to him to be readily apprehended.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThese discussions were mingled with more practical but equally windy\u003cbr\u003edisputes on the questions whether the railwaymen would come out,\u003cbr\u003ewhether the miners were bluffing, what Bob Hart was going to do, and\u003cbr\u003emuch more besides on the same level of interest. There had been also a\u003cbr\u003eyouth with great superiority of manner, who seemed as tedious and\u003cbr\u003eirritating to the politicians as they were to Jeremy--a sort of super-\u003cbr\u003ebore who stated at intervals that the General Strike was a myth, but\u003cbr\u003epraised all and sundry for talking about it and threatening it. It had\u003cbr\u003ebeen--hadn't it?---a studio party. At least, Jeremy had gone to it on\u003cbr\u003ethat understanding; but the political push had rushed it somehow, and\u003cbr\u003ehad bored everybody else to tears.","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47068909535472,"sku":"2940013681316","price":2.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013681316_p0.jpg?v=1763584301","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013681316","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}