"You shall come and you only." I expostulated; I tried to get up and fly--which, indeed, I did do, in another sense.
But Oro fixed his eyes upon me and slowly waved his thin hand to and fro above my head.
My senses reeled.

Then came a great darkness.
They returned again.

Now I was standing in an icy, reeking fog, which I knew could belong to one place only--London, in December, and at my side was Oro.
"Is this the climate of your wonderful city ?" he asked, or seemed to ask, in an aggrieved tone.
I replied that it was, for about three months in the year, and began to look about me.
Soon I found my bearings.

In front of me were great piles of buildings, looking dim and mysterious in the fog, in which I recognised the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, for both could be seen from where we stood in front of the Westminster Bridge Station.

I explained their identity to Oro.
"Good," he said.