And now, getting into an overcoat
and pulling a soft cap over his head, he let himself out of the house,
and crossing the square, turned down a side-street and marched slowly in
the direction of the Bayswater Road.
November though it was the night was fine and clear, and there was a
half-moon in the heavens; also there was rather more than a suspicion of
frost in the air, and the stars, accordingly, wore a more brilliant
appearance. To one who loved night strolling, as Viner did, this was
indeed an ideal night for the time of year; and on this occasion,
therefore, he went further than usual going along Bayswater Road as far
as Notting Hill Gate, and thence returning through the various streets
and terraces which lay between Pembridge Gardens and Markendale Square.
And while he strolled along, smoking his pipe, watching the twinkling
lights of passing vehicles and enjoying the touch of frost, he was
thinking, in a half-cynical, half-amused way, of his Aunt Bethia's taste
for the sensational fiction and of her evidently sincere conviction that
there were much stranger things in real life than could be found between
the covers of any novel.
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