QUOTE : Every few minutes columns marched past outside, some with crashing military marches, others to the tune of the Internationale, and then again silent, long processions with placards carried in advance demanding work and bread. The beat of the many footsteps on the pavement was like the inexorable ticking of some gigantic clock. During the afternoon there had already been a clash between strikers and the police; twelve people had been hurt, and for hours the entire force had been standing to. The whistle of motor ambulances shrilled through the streets. “There’s no rest,” said the proprietor, showing a sixteen. “Ever since the war there’s been no rest. And yet we all wanted nothing else then, but rest. Crazy world.” I showed seventeen and raked in the pot. “It’s not the world that’s crazy,” said I. “It’s the people in it.