The very pavement under Mr Verloc's feet had an old-gold tinge in that diffused light, in which neither wall, nor tree, nor beast, nor man cast a shadow.

Mr Verloc was going westward through a town without shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold.
There were red, coppery gleams on the roofs of houses, on the corners of walls, on the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the horses, and on the broad back of Mr Verloc's overcoat, where they produced a dull effect of rustiness.

But Mr Verloc was not in the least conscious of having got rusty.

He surveyed through the park railings the evidences of the town's opulence and luxury with an approving eye.

All these people had to be protected.