His step had a vigour very different from the trailing weariness of the night before, and he looked straight before him as he walked.

There was a heat on his forehead which the raw breath of the morning could not allay.

Before he had gone half a mile, he flung open his overcoat, as if it oppressed him.

It was in the direction of Westminster that he walked.

Out of Victoria Street he took the same turn as on one miserable night, one which he had taken on many a night since then.