The world wore an air of disgust at having to get up on such a morning.

The atmosphere for thirty yards around them was clear enough, with the clearness of yellow consomme, but ahead it stood thick, like a puree of bad vegetables.

They passed through Belgravia, and the white-blinded houses gave an impression of universal death, and the empty streets seemed waiting for the doors to open and the mourners to issue forth.

The cab, too, had something of the sinister, in that it was haunted by the ghosts of a fourpenny cigar and a sixpenny bottle of scent which continued a lugubrious flirtation; and the windows rattled a _danse macabre_.

At last it pulled up at the door of Emmy's Mansions in Chelsea.
She looked at him very piteously, like a frightened child.