And in the roadway, through the translucent olive, the swirling traffic seemed like armies of ghosts mightily and dashingly charioted.
The darkness had deepened when we, at last, drew up at the mansions in St.John's Wood.

No lights were lit in the vestibule, and the hall-porter emerged as from a cavern of despair.

He opened the car-door and touched his peaked cap.

I could see from the man's face that he had been expecting us.

He knew us, of course, as constant visitors of the Bolderos.
"What's the matter ?" I asked.
"Don't you know, sir ?" "No." He glanced at Barbara, as if afraid to give her the shock of his news, and bent forward and whispered to me: "Mr.Boldero's dead, sir." I don't remember clearly what happened then.