The wrinkles on his face were not those of the social smile, which so disfigure the faces of women when the smile is no longer wanted.

They were the wrinkles of sunshine.
"I will wait," he said placidly to himself in English, with, however, a strong American accent.

"I have waited fifteen years--and she doesn't know I am coming." He sat looking across the river with quiet eyes.

The city lay before him, with the spire of its unmatched cathedral, the domes of its second cathedral, and its many towers outlined against the sky just as he had seen them fifteen years before--just as others had seen them a hundred years earlier.
The great rounded cloud was nearer to the moon now.

Now it touched it.
And quite suddenly the domes disappeared.