Once they turned aside into a public, and had a
drink of gin together. Adam paid.
Thus for two hours they plodded westward, and the fog and crowd were
with them all the way--strangers jostling them by the shoulder on the
greasy pavement, hansoms splashing the brown mud over them--the same
din for miles. Many shops were lighting up, and from these a yellow
flare streamed into the fog; or a white when it came from the
electric light; or separate beams of orange, green, and violet, when
the shop was a druggist's.
Then they came to the railings of Hyde Park, and trudged down the
hill alongside them to Kensington Gardens. It was yet early in the
afternoon. Adam pulled up.
"Come and look," he said. "It's autumn in there," and he went in at
the Victoria gate, with Eve at his heels.
"Mister, how old might you be?" she asked, encouraged by the sound of
his voice.
"Thirty."
"And you've passed ten years in--in there." She jerked her head back
and shivered a little.
He had stooped to pick up a leaf. It was a yellow leaf from a
chestnut that reached into the fog above them. He picked it slowly
to pieces, drawing full draughts of air into his lungs. "Fifteen,"
he jerked out, "one time and another. 'Cumulated, you know."
Pausing, he added, in a matter-of-fact voice, "What I've took would
come to less'n a pound's worth, altogether."
The Gardens were deserted, and the pair roamed towards the centre,
gazing curiously at so much of sodden vegetation as the fog allowed
them to see.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161