Westward, the late June twilight deepened into a violet and moonless darkness.

The lights in St.James's Park glittered like motionless fireflies; a faint wind rustled amongst the drooping leaves of the trees.

Up here the atmosphere was different.

It seemed a long way from Shoreditch.
Outside the principal of the official residences in Downing Street, there was a tented passage-way and a strip of drugget across the pavement.

Within, the large reception rooms were crowded with men and women.