It was a cold, clammy room, dark.
He could hear footsteps passing outside on the asphalt pavement below the window, and the wind howling with familiar cadence.

He began feeling for something in the darkness of the music-rack beside the piano.

He touched and felt--he could not find what he wanted.

Perplexed, he turned and looked out of the window.

Through the iron railing of the front wall he could see the little motorcar sending its straight beams of light in front of it, up the street.
He sat down on the sofa by the window.