Undisciplined
and disorderly in their way of life the citizens can do nothing. After
each murder they cry out for new laws which, when they are written
into the books of laws, the very lawmaker himself breaks. Harried
through life by clamouring demands, their days leave them no time for
the quietude in which thoughts grow. After days of meaningless hurry
in the city they jump upon trains or street cars and hurry through
their favourite paper to the ball game, the comic pictures and the
market reports.
And then something happens. The moment arrives. A murder that might
have got a single column on an inner page of yesterday's paper today
spreads its terrible details over everything.
Through the streets hurry the restless scurrying newsboys, stirring
the crowds with their cries. The men who have passed impatiently the
tales of a city's shame snatch the papers and read eagerly and
exhaustively the story of a crime.
And into the midst of such a maelstrom of rumours, hideous impossible
stories and well-laid plans to defeat the truth, McGregor hurled
himself. Day after day he wandered through the vice district south of
Van Buren Street. Prostitutes, pimps, thieves and saloon hangers-on
looked at him and smiled knowingly. As the days passed and he made no
progress he became desperate.
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