"No," he replied; "I'll walk home." "Best way to think, walking at night," he said to himself as he turned down Whitehall, through the all but empty streets, darkened as they were.
The meaning of those great familiar spaces struck him as he walked.
Hardly formulating it, he became aware of a sense of pride and responsibility as he passed scene after scene of England's past glory.
The old Abbey towered up in the moonlight, solemn and still, but almost as if animate and looking at him.

He felt small and old as he passed into Victoria Street.

There the Stores by night made him smile at the contrast, but in Ashley Gardens Westminster Cathedral made him frown.

If he hated anything, it was that for which it stood.

Romanism meant to him something effeminate, sneaking, monstrous....