He realised even more drastically than the facts warranted that he was making his farewell to the town.
He was not making his final farewell; he would not make that until his death, and, perhaps, not then; but he was making farewell to some of his sense of his wonder in it, only not, thank God, to the sense of wonder itself! As he went he met the daily figures of all his walks, and he could not help but speculate on their realisation of the great change that was coming to him.

It was absurd to suppose that they were saying to themselves: "Ah, there's young Jeremy Cole! He's off to school tomorrow.
I wonder what he feels about it!..." No, that was incredible, and yet they must realise something of the adventure.
He, on his part, stared at them with a new interest.

They had before shared in the inevitable background without individuality.

But now that he was leaving them, and they would grow, as it were, without his permission, he was forced to grant them independence.

At the bottom of Orange Street he met Mr.Dawson, the Cathedral Organist; he was a little, plump man, in a very neat grey suit, a shiny top hat, and very small spats.