Then, because I next conceived it a foreign kind of place, different altogether from that home growth of ours, the Tower of London, I topped it with a multitude of domes of pumpkin or turban shape, resembling the Kremlin of Moscow, which had once leapt up in the eye of Winter, glowing like a million pine-torches, and flung shadows of stretching red horses on the black smoke-drift.

But what was the Kremlin, that had seen a city perish, to this Bench where my father languished! There was no comparing them for tragic horror.

And the Kremlin had snow-fields around it; this Bench was caught out of sight, hemmed in by an atmosphere thick as Charon breathed; it might as well be underground.
'Oh! it's London,' Temple went on, correcting his incorrigible doubts about it.

He jumped on the platform; we had to call out not to lose one another.

'I say, Richie, this is London,' he said, linking his arm in mine: 'you know by the size of the station; and besides, there's the fog.