There were opium dens where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were new.
The moon hung low in the sky like a yellow skull.

From time to time a huge misshapen cloud stretched a long arm across and hid it.

The gas-lamps grew fewer, and the streets more narrow and gloomy.

Once the man lost his way and had to drive back half a mile.

A steam rose from the horse as it splashed up the puddles.