I want to welcome everyone to part 15 of my reading of Camp of the Saints by genre spell.

When I tell you about episode 1049 of my podcast, if you were not aware aware it is only available in audio on my website

Freeman Be on the Wall.com forward slash debate you can download it there it is available in video form on rumble

Odyssey and bit shoot so you can go there and you can watch the video and just search the Pekingano show.

So, yeah, that's it.

Let's just jump right in,

because I think these are long chapters

are probably only to be able to get two done today.

All right, Chapter 41.

The Stars had dimmed.

The Moon had set at the foot of a tall pine set,

Colonel Dragass, warming his hands around a mug of steaming coffee.

The searchlight on the roof of the villa was cutting its swath less sharply through the night.

Not that the darkness had thickened around it, but rather because as the outlines paled, they began to blend in with the moving white beam pacing the beach like a century, glimpsing through the haze of the early morning mists.

Five o'clock, everything was quiet on board the ships of the refugee fleet.

Nothing was stirring.

Only an occasional barely noticeable tremor, rippling the surface of the bodies that line the deck.

Heads most likely, rearing ever so slightly as day break near to gaze toward the shore for

an inkling of impending destiny. In Panama Rangers' camp the noise had died down, or rather it had changed, gaining in refinement what it gave up in volume. No sounds but guitars now strumming in the

dismal well of those soulful ballads so very much in vogue. It was a time

indeed when the popular song wallowed in melancholy with its four note laments in tone for oneself,

one's fellows, all of mankind, and the rest. Whenever the pop tunes would lose their blaring

...