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It seemed to him he had waited an age for some stir of the great grim hush; the life of the town was itself under a spell–so unnaturally, up and down the whole prospect of known and rather ugly objects, the blankness and the silence lasted. Had they ever, he asked himself, the hard-faced houses, which had begun to look livid in the dim dawn, had they ever spoken so little to any need of his spirit? Great builded voids, great crowded stillnesses put on, often, in the heart of cities, for the small hours, a sort of sinister mask, and it was of this large collective negation that Brydon presently became conscious–all the more that the break of day was, almost incredibly, now at hand, proving to him what night he had made of it.
