AN AIR RAID SEEN FROM ABOVE The moonlight lay like cream upon the pavement when the witch and Harold her broomstick left the Higgins' doorstep.

London was a still Switzerland in silver and star-grey, unblotted by people.

There was a hint of pale green about the moonlight, and the lamps with their dim light downcast were like daffodils in faery fields.
The witch mounted.

Harold, who was every inch a thoroughbred and very highly strung, trembled beneath her, but not with fear.

They reached Piccadilly Circus with supernatural speed, and flashed across it.