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"Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," wailed that superhuman note--
great waves of sound sweeping down the broad, sunlit roadway,
between the tall buildings on each side. I turned northwards,
marvelling, towards the iron gates of Hyde Park. I had
half a mind to break into the Natural History Museum and
find my way up to the summits of the towers, in order to see
across the park. But I decided to keep to the ground, where
quick hiding was possible, and so went on up the Exhibition
Road. All the large mansions on each side of the road were
empty and still, and my footsteps echoed against the sides
of the houses. At the top, near the park gate, I came upon
a strange sight--a bus overturned, and the skeleton of a
horse picked clean. I puzzled over this for a time, and then
went on to the bridge over the Serpentine. The voice grew
stronger and stronger, though I could see nothing above the
housetops on the north side of the park, save a haze of smoke
to the northwest.
"Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," cried the voice, coming, as it
seemed to me, from the district about Regent's Park. The
desolating cry worked upon my mind. The mood that had
sustained me passed. The wailing took possession of me. I
found I was intensely weary, footsore, and now again hungry
and thirsty.
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