A few pedestrians hurry by, their heavy boots all out of step.

The distant thoroughfares have long ago ceased their murmur, and I know that a million lamps shine idly in the idle streets.
My sister sleeps quietly in the little bed.

The rhythmic dripping of a faucet is audible through the flat.

It is so still that I can hear the paper crackling on the wall.

Silence upon silence is added to the night; only the kitchen clock is the voice of my brooding thoughts,--ticking, ticking, ticking.
Suddenly the distant whistle of a locomotive breaks the stillness with a long-drawn wail.