By dreary thoroughfares he came into view of the church, and stood gazing at the spire, dark against a blotchy sky.

Then he mocked at himself for acting as if he had an interest in Chatterton, when in truth the name signified boredom to him.

Oh, these English provincial towns! What an atmosphere of deadly dulness hung over them all! And people were born, and lived, and died in Bristol--merciful powers! He made his way back to the hotel, drank a glass of hot whisky, and went to bed.
After a sound sleep he awoke in the grey dawn, wondered awhile where he could be, then asked himself why on earth he had come here.

It didn't matter much; he could strike off by the Midland to Polterham, and be there before noon.

And again he slept.
When he had breakfasted, he called to the waiter and asked him how far it was to that part of the town called Hotwells.