I hate such skies.
Daylight is friendly to man toiling under a sun which warms his heart; and cloudy soft nights are more kindly to our littleness.

I nearly ran back again to my lighted parlour; Fyne fussing in a knicker-bocker suit before the hosts of heaven, on a shadowy earth, about a transient, phantom-like girl, seemed too ridiculous to associate with.

On the other hand there was something fascinating in the very absurdity.

He cut along in his best pedestrian style and I found myself let in for a spell of severe exercise at eleven o'clock at night.
In the distance over the fields and trees smudging and blotching the vast obscurity, one lighted window of the cottage with the blind up was like a bright beacon kept alight to guide the lost wanderer.

Inside, at the table bearing the lamp, we saw Mrs.Fyne sitting with folded arms and not a hair of her head out of place.