The arid plain blossomed in his imagination, for he saw the weariness die out of Clarice's face.
He tossed restlessly through the night, until one thought emerged from the turmoil of his ideas, fashioned itself into a fact, and stood framed there before his eyes.

He held the future of Clarice in the hollow of his hand.

Her fate rested upon his decision, and he must decide.
Drake rose and walked out on to the balcony, as the dawn was breaking over London.

A white mist was crawling above the Thames; he could see a glimpse of the water here and there as the mist shredded.

He turned to the west and looked towards Westminster, recollecting how his name and purposes had centred there as though drawn by a magnet.