No, I should look to a land more
distant than Italy, to a city more sacred even than Rome."
Book 2 Chapter 13
It was a cloudy, glimmering dawn. A cold withering east wind
blew through the silent streets of Mowbray. The sounds of the
night had died away, the voices of the day had not commenced.
There reigned a stillness complete and absorbing.
Suddenly there is a voice, there is movement. The first
footstep of the new week of toil is heard. A man muffled up
in a thick coat, and bearing in his hand what would seem at
the first glance to be a shepherd's crook, only its handle is
much longer, appears upon the pavement. He touches a number
of windows with great quickness as he moves rapidly along. A
rattling noise sounds upon each pane. The use of the long
handle of his instrument becomes apparent as he proceeds,
enabling him as it does to reach the upper windows of the
dwellings whose inmates he has to rouse. Those inmates are
the factory girls, who subscribe in districts to engage these
heralds of the dawn; and by a strict observance of whose
citation they can alone escape the dreaded fine that awaits
those who have not arrived at the door of the factory before
the bell ceases to sound.
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