Seymour felt suddenly as though he could never return to London again exactly as he had returned to it before.
"That period of my life is over, quite over....

Some one is taking me down here now--I know that I am being compelled to go.

But I want to go.
I am happier than I have ever been in my life before." Often, in Glebeshire, December days are warm and mellow like the early days of September.

It so was now; the country was wrapped in with happy content, birds rose and hung, like telegraph wires, beyond the windows.
On a slanting brown field gulls from the sea, white and shining, were hovering, wheeling, sinking into the soil.

And yet, as he went, he was not leaving March Square behind, but rather taking it with him.