Livingstone plodded along through the snow, relieved to find that the effort made him forget himself and banished those wretched figures.

He traversed the intervening streets and before he was conscious of it was standing in the hall of the brilliantly lighted club.

The lights dazzled him, and he was only half sensible of the score of servants that surrounded him with vague, half-proffers of aid in removing his overcoat.
Without taking off his coat, Livingstone walked on into the large assembly-room to see who might be there.

It was as empty as a church.
The lights were all turned on full and the fires burned brightly in the big hearths; but there was not a soul in the room, usually so crowded at this hour.
Livingstone turned and crossed the marble-paved hall to another spacious suite of rooms.

Not a soul was there.