I get quite nervous sometimes, now." At the corner of the Wenzelsplatz, Harris, who was a few steps ahead of us, paused.
"It's a fine street, isn't it ?" he said, sticking his hands in his pockets, and gazing up at it admiringly.
George and I followed suit.

Two hundred yards away from us, in its very centre, was the third of these ghostly statues.

I think it was the best of the three--the most like, the most deceptive.

It stood boldly outlined against the wild sky: the horse on its hind legs, with its curiously attenuated tail; the man bareheaded, pointing with his plumed hat to the now entirely visible moon.
"I think, if you don't mind," said George--he spoke with almost a pathetic ring in his voice, his aggressiveness had completely fallen from him,--"that I will have that cab, if there's one handy." "I thought you were looking queer," said Harris, kindly.

"It's your head, isn't it ?" "Perhaps it is," answered George.
"I have noticed it coining on," said Harris; "but I didn't like to say anything to you.