I have never been to St.John's Wood.

I dare not.
I should be afraid of the innumerable night of fir trees, afraid to come upon a blood-red cup and the beating of the wings of the Eagle.
But all these things can be imagined by remaining reverently in the Harrow train." And he thoughtfully retouched his design for the head-dress of the halberdier of St.John's Wood, a design in black and red, compounded of a pine tree and the plumage of an eagle.

Then he turned to another card.

"Let us think of milder matters," he said.

"Lavender Hill! Could any of your glebes and combes and all the rest of it produce so fragrant an idea?
Think of a mountain of lavender lifting itself in purple poignancy into the silver skies and filling men's nostrils with a new breath of life--a purple hill of incense.