Aturn，andtheyranonthehighleveltoStacksGate。StacksGate，asseenfromthehighroad，wasjustahugeandgorgeousnewhotel，theConingsbyArms，standingredandwhiteandgiltinbarbarousisolationofftheroad。Butifyoulooked，yousawontheleftrowsofhandsome`modern’
dwellings，setdownlikeagameofdominoes，withspacesandgardens，aqueergameofdominoesthatsomeweird`masters’wereplayingonthesurprisedearth。Andbeyondtheseblocksofdwellings，attheback，rosealltheastonishingandfrighteningoverheaderectionsofareallymodernmine，chemicalworksandlonggalleries，enormous，andofshapesnotbeforeknowntoman。Thehead-stockandpit-bankofthemineitselfwereinsignificantamongthehugenewinstallations。Andinfrontofthis，thegameofdominoesstoodforeverinasortofsurprise，waitingtobeplayed。
ThiswasStacksGate，newonthefaceoftheearth，sincethewar。Butasamatteroffact，thoughevenConniedidnotknowit，downhillhalfamilebelowthe`hotel’wasoldStacksGate，withalittleoldcollieryandblackisholdbrickdwellings，andachapelortwoandashoportwoandalittlepubortwo。
Butthatdidn’tcountanymore。Thevastplumesofsmokeandvapourrosefromthenewworksupabove，andthiswasnowStacksGate：nochapels，nopubs，evennoshops。Onlythegreatworks’，whicharethemodernOlympiawithtemplestoallthegods；thenthemodeldwellings：thenthehotel。
Thehotelinactualitywasnothingbutaminers’pubthoughitlookedfirst-classy。