I desired always to stretch the night and fill it fuller and fuller with dreams.

Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.

Infinite sensations. Pearly night air.

She blazed. She kindled. Out of the night she burnt like a white star.

I resign, the evening seemed to say, as it paled and faded above the battlements and prominences, moulded, pointed, of hotel, flat, and block of shops, I fade, she was beginning, I disappear, but London would have none of it, and rushed her bayonets into the sky, pinioned her, constrained her to partnership in her revelry.