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You have an eye for effect, Raut. It's fine.
And look at those furnaces of mine, how they rise upon us as we come down
the hill. That to the right is my pet--seventy feet of him. I packed him
myself, and he's boiled away cheerfully with iron in his guts for five
long years. I've a particular fancy for _him_. That line of red
there--a lovely bit of warm orange you'd call it, Raut--that's the
puddlers' furnaces, and there, in the hot light, three black figures--did
you see the white splash of the steam-hammer then?--that's the rolling
mills. Come along! Clang, clatter, how it goes rattling across the floor!
Sheet tin, Raut,--amazing stuff. Glass mirrors are not in it when that
stuff comes from the mill. And, squelch! there goes the hammer again. Come
along!"
He had to stop talking to catch at his breath. His arm twisted into Raut's
with benumbing tightness. He had come striding down the black path towards
the railway as though he was possessed. Raut had not spoken a word, had
simply hung back against Horrocks's pull with all his strength.


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