Maggie had only once in all her life been in a train, but on this
present occasion she did not find it very thrilling. It was rather
like being in anything else, and her imagination exercised itself
upon the people in the carriage rather than the scenery outside. She
was at first extremely self-conscious and fancied that every one
whispered about her. Then, lulled by the motion of the train and the
warmth, she slept; she was more deeply exhausted by the events of
the last week than she knew, and throughout the day she slumbered,
woke, and slumbered again.
Quite suddenly she awoke with a definite shock to a new world.
Evening had come; there were lights that rushed up to the train,
stared in at the window, and rushed away again. On every side things
seemed to change places in a general post, trees and houses, hedges
and roads, all lit by an evening moon and wrapt in a white and
wavering mist. Then the town was upon them, quite instantly; streets
ran like ribbons into grey folds of buildings; rows of lamps,
scattered at first, drew into a single point of dancing flame;
towers and chimneys seemed to jump from place to place as though
they were trying to keep in time with the train; a bell rang
monotonously; wreaths of smoke rose lazily against the stars and
fell again.
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