"I thought so," I said. "Gas-masks, Roy--quick!"
Roy turned and waved an order to his company. In a few seconds we were
advancing again: each man had transformed God's image into a goggled
deformity, and was breathing God's air from a box of chemicals through a
jointed tube.
Roy and I adjusted our masks last.
"Come along," I said, with a glance ahead of us: "the longer we look at
it the less we shall like it!" I tried to fit my mask to my face, but
found that Roy was shouting into my ear again.
"Uncle Alan--"