He had scarcely noticed the weather before, but with the four dead eyes glaring at him he looked round and realised the strange dead day.
The morning was wintry and dim, not misty, but darkened with that shadow of cloud or snow which steeps everything in a green or copper twilight.

The light there is on such a day seems not so much to come from the clear heavens as to be a phosphorescence clinging to the shapes themselves.

The load of heaven and the clouds is like a load of waters, and the men move like fishes, feeling that they are on the floor of a sea.

Everything in a London street completes the fantasy; the carriages and cabs themselves resemble deep-sea creatures with eyes of flame.

He had been startled at first to meet two dragons.