Harold Frederic

The Market-place: a Novel Harold Frederic

His triumph was so sweeping and comprehensive as to be somewhat shapeless to the view. He had a sense of fascinated pain when he tried to define to himself what its limits would probably be. Vistas of unchecked, expanding conquest stretched away in every direction. He held at his mercy everything within sight. I ndeed, it rested entirely with him to say whether there should be any such thing as mercy at all and until he chose to utter the restraining word the rout of the vanquished would go on with multiplying terrors and ruin. He could crush and torture and despoil his enemies until he was tired. The responsibility of having to decide when he would stop grinding their faces might come to weigh upon him later on, but he would not give it room in his mind tonight. A picture of these faces of his victims shaped itself out of the flames in the grate. They were moulded in a family likeness, these phantom visages :they were all Jewish, all malignant, all distorted with fright.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)

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