And what Michael felt was felt by the enormous majority
of English people.
"Dear Aunt Barbara, you do get on quick," he said.
"It will happen quickly," she said. "There is that little cloud in the
east like a man's hand today, and rather like that mailed fist which
our sweet peaceful friend in Germany is so fond of talking about. But it
will spread over the sky, I tell you, like some tropical storm. France
is unready, Russia is unready; only Germany and her marionette, Austria,
the strings of which she pulls, is ready."
"Go on prophesying," said Michael.
"I wish I could. Ever since that Sarajevo murder I have thought of
nothing else day and night. But how events will develop then I can't
imagine. What will England do? Who knows? I only know what Germany
thinks she will do, and that is, stand aside because she can't stir,
with this Irish mill-stone round her neck. If Germany thought otherwise,
she is perfectly capable of sending a dozen submarines over to our naval
manoeuvres and torpedoing our battleships right and left."
Michael laughed outright at this.
"While a fleet of Zeppelins hovers over London, and drops bombs on the
War Office and the Admiralty," he suggested.
But Aunt Barbara was not in the least diverted by this.
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