The sky was flattened by a fog that shut down on the roofs and
chimneys like a tent-cloth, white and opaque. Now and then a
yellowish wave rolled across it from eastward, and the cloth would be
shaken. When this happened, the street was always filled with gloom,
and the receding figure of the woman lost in it for a while.
The man thrust a hand into his trousers pocket, pulled out a penny,
and after considering for a couple of seconds, spun it carelessly.
It fell in his palm, tail up; and he regarded it as a sailor might a
compass. The trident in Britannia's hand pointed westward, down the
street.
"West it is," he decided with a shrug, implying that all the four
quarters were equally to his mind. He was pocketing the coin, when
footsteps approached, and he lifted his head. It was the woman
returning. She halted close to him with an undecided manner, and the
pair eyed each other.
We may know them as Adam and Eve, for both were beginning a world
that contained neither friends nor kin. Both had very white hands
and very short hair. The man was tall and meagre, with a receding
forehead and a sandy complexion that should have been freckled, but
was not. He had a trick of half-closing his eyes when he looked at
anything, not screwing them up as seamen do, but appearing rather to
drop a film over them like the inner eyelid of a bird. The woman's
eyes resembled a hare's, being brown and big, and set far back, so
that she seemed at times to be looking right behind her.
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