.

." He turned out of their cold silence over the bridge that spanned the river, up the path that crossed the common into the heart of the town, Here, at once, he was in the hubbub.

The little streets were mediaeval in their narrow space, in their cobbles, in the old black, fantastic walls that hung above them.

Beauty, too, on this November evening, shone through the misty lamplight.

Beauty in the dark purple of the evening sky, beauty in the sudden vista of grey courts with lighted windows, like eyes, seen through stone gateways.