Thenoiseandclamourofthestreethaddiedaway，thoughnowandthenthesoundofshoutingstillcamefromthedistance，andthedull，leadensilenceseemedlikethequietafteranearthquakeorastorm。Villiersturnedfromthewindowandbeganspeaking。
\"IwasatahousenearRegent’sParklastnight，andwhenIcameawaythefancytookmetowalkhomeinsteadoftakingahansom。Itwasaclearpleasantnightenough，andafterafewminutesIhadthestreetsprettymuchtomyself。
It’sacuriousthing，Austin，tobealoneinLondonatnight，thegas-lampsstretchingawayinperspective，andthedeadsilence，andthenperhapstherushandclatterofahansomonthestones，andthefirestartingupunderthehorse’shoofs。
Iwalkedalongprettybriskly，forIwasfeelingalittletiredofbeingoutinthenight，andastheclockswerestrikingtwoIturneddownAshleyStreet，which，youknow，isonmyway。Itwasquieterthaneverthere，andthelampswerefewer；
altogether，itlookedasdarkandgloomyasaforestinwinter。