He struck at the horse madly with his stick.

The driver laughed and whipped up.

He laughed in answer, and the man was silent.
The way seemed interminable, and the streets like the black web of some sprawling spider.

The monotony became unbearable, and as the mist thickened, he felt afraid.
Then they passed by lonely brickfields.

The fog was lighter here, and he could see the strange, bottle-shaped kilns with their orange, fanlike tongues of fire.