Then he gave it up.

He became a wanderer about London, one of her children who watched her with thoughtful eyes at all times and hours of the day and night.

He saw the pink dawn glimmer through the trees in St.James's Park.

He saw the bridges empty, the smoke-stained buildings deserted by their inhabitants, with St.Paul's in the background like a sentinel watching over the sleeping world.

He heard the crash and roar of life die away and he watched like an anxious prophet while the city slept.
He looked upon the stereotyped horrors of the Embankment, vitalized and actual to him now in the light of his new understanding.