Dead London

Ulla!
I stopped, staring toward the sound. It seemed as if that mighty desert of
house had found a voice for its fear and solitude…
Ulla!
The desolating cry worked upon my mind. The wailing took possession of me.
I was intensely weary, footsore, hungry and thirsty. Why was I wandering alone
in this city of the dead? Why was I alive, when London in state in its black
shroud? I felt intolerably lonely, drifting from street to empty street,
drawn inexorably towards that cry…
Ulla!
I saw, over the trees on Primrose hill, the fighting machine from which the
howling came. I crossed Regents Canal. There stood a second machine, upright,
but as still as the first
Ulla! Ul-!
Abruptly, the sound ceased. Suddenly, the desolation, the solitude,
became unendurable. While that voice sounded, London had still seemed alive.
Now, suddenly, there was a change, the passing of something and all that
remained was this gaunt quiet