People looked furtive, and went in and out of the houses
furtively. They crawled rather than pranced, and their bodies bore
themselves with a depression that seemed indiscreet. Occasionally men
with dripping umbrellas knocked at the doors under the red glass, and
disappeared into narrow passages inhabited by small iron umbrella-stands.
Night brooded here like a dyspeptic raven with moulting tail-feathers
and ragged wings. But London is eloquent of surprises. The cab turned
a corner, and instantly they were in a wide and rain-swept street, long
and straight, and lined with reserved houses, that shrank back from the
publicity of the passing traffic at the end of narrow alleys protected
by iron gates. Over many of these gates appeared lit arches of glass on
which names were inscribed: "Albion Hotel," "Valetta Hotel," "Imperial
Hotel," "Cosmopolitan Hotel,"--great names for small houses. These houses
had front doors with glass panels, and all the panels glowed dimly with
gas.
The cab flashed by them, and Julian read the fleeting names, until his
eyes were suddenly saluted with "European Hotel."
Violently the cabman drew up. The smoking horse was squeezed upon its
haunches, and its feet slithered harshly along the stones.
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