Explore "The Calendar" by Edgar Wallace on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
LONG LINES of charabancs were crawling with painful slowness through Windsor Park and the town of Staines was jammed with large cars, going at snail's pace towards the bridge; where the Ascot Road turns off by Virginia Water the block was even greater.
All the world was converging upon Ascot. Polished limousines, ancient Fords, hired cars stood wing to wing in every road and side road leading to the course. The broad heath was already crowded, the stands black with sightseers. Every one of the hundreds of boxes held its gay little party.