The journey to Camelot was a repetition of what I had already seen.

The Monday and the Tuesday differed in no way from the Sunday.

I arrived far in the night.

From being the best electric-lighted town in the kingdom and the most like a recumbent sun of anything you ever saw, it was become simply a blot--a blot upon darkness--that is to say, it was darker and solider than the rest of the darkness, and so you could see it a little better; it made me feel as if maybe it was symbolical--a sort of sign that the Church was going to _keep_ the upper hand now, and snuff out all my beautiful civilization just like that.

I found no life stirring in the somber streets.
I groped my way with a heavy heart.