Its gray gloom in springtime.

Its glory in summer and autumn.
It was the breeding-place of a new race of men, and they loved it as Alan loved it.

To him the black wireless tower meant more than the Statue of Liberty, the three weather-beaten church spires more than the architectural colossi of New York and Washington.

Beside one of the churches he had played as a boy.

He had seen the steeples painted.