The road is narrow, and after nightfall has but little traffic.
Gilbert walked as far as the middle of the bridge, then leaned upon the parapet and looked northwards.

The tide was running out; it swept darkly onwards to the span of Westminster Bridge, whose crescent of lights it repeated in long unsteady rays.

Along the base of the Houses of Parliament the few sparse lamps contrasted with the line of brightness on the Embankment opposite.

The Houses themselves rose grandly in obscure magnitude; the clock-tower beaconed with two red circles against the black sky, the greater tower stood night-clad, and between them were the dim pinnacles, multiplied in shadowy grace.
Farther away Gilbert could just discern a low, grey shape, that resting-place of poets and of kings which to look upon filled his heart with worship.
In front of the Embankment, a few yards out into the stream, was moored a string of barges; between them and the shore the reflected lamp-light made one unbroken breadth of radiance, blackening the mid-current.

From that the eye rose to St.Thomas's Hospital, spreading block after block, its windows telling of the manifold woe within.