Love Is All — Evangeline Booth; Grace Livingston Hill

1908

The day was far spent; nay, it had passed. Its blood-prints the heavy tramp of all time can never efface. The merciless crowd which had feasted their eyes upon that ghastly and inhuman spectacle had dispersed. The excited and vulgar laughter night's sympathetic silence had hushed, and the tier above tier of empty seats seemed strangely to add to the desolation of the hour. The sky had wrapped itself in its blackest man le, and apart from the kindly light lent by the stars revealing the mangled forms of the martyrs and the sound of the intermittent roar of the well-feasted beasts, there was nothing to be heard or seen.