I said that all sorts of things ought to happen in a fog but that no one ever did have adventures nowadays.

At that we rode straight into a bank of fog that makes those on the fishing banks look like Spring sunshine.

You could not see the houses, nor the street, nor the horse, not even his tail.

All you could see were gas jets, but not the iron that supported them.

The cabman discovered the fact that he was lost and turned around in circles and the horse slipped on the asphalt which was thick with frost, and then we backed into lamp-posts and curbs until Ethel got so scared she bit her under lip until it bled.