He came out into what seemed the vast and void of Ludgate Circus, and saw St.Paul's Cathedral sitting in the sky.
At first he was startled to find these great roads so empty, as if a pestilence had swept through the city.

Then he told himself that some degree of emptiness was natural; first because the snow-storm was even dangerously deep, and secondly because it was Sunday.

And at the very word Sunday he bit his lip; the word was henceforth for hire like some indecent pun.

Under the white fog of snow high up in the heaven the whole atmosphere of the city was turned to a very queer kind of green twilight, as of men under the sea.

The sealed and sullen sunset behind the dark dome of St.Paul's had in it smoky and sinister colours--colours of sickly green, dead red or decaying bronze, that were just bright enough to emphasise the solid whiteness of the snow.
But right up against these dreary colours rose the black bulk of the cathedral; and upon the top of the cathedral was a random splash and great stain of snow, still clinging as to an Alpine peak.