The hour was nearly two, and the great curved thoroughfare was rather deserted.
Those few persons who were about had a curious aspect of wolves.

Their eyes were watchful; their gait denoted a ghastly readiness for pause, for colloquy.

Poor creatures! What was their _liaison_ with life?
A thing like a cry for help in the dark.

The doctor longed to be a miracle-worker, to lift up his hands, just there where he was by the New Gallery, and to say, "Be ye healed!" He had a true love for every human thing.

And that love sometimes seared his heart, despite his fervent faith and hope.
But now, as he pursued his way, a physical sensation intruded itself upon his mind, and gradually excluded all his reflections.