The sun was not up,
though it was broad dawn when he and his companions went out into the
cool, silent streets, realising when they breathed the morning air the
closeness of the heated atmosphere they had quitted. They separated by
degrees, dropping off, one after the other, as each approached his
lodgings, but before going home they all accompanied Rex to the street
door of his dwelling.
When Greif was alone he threw open his window to the fresh morning
breeze, and sitting down as he was, drank in the air, which to him
seemed so delightfully sweet, though it would have chilled a weaker man
to the bone. It was all the refreshment he needed, in spite of a
sleepless night, spent chiefly in an atmosphere heated by gas and
heavy with the fumes of tobacco. The morning, too, was exceptionally
clear and beautiful. A scarcely perceptible mist blended the neutral
tints of the old town with the faint colours of the sky, which changed
by gentle degrees from dark blue to violet, from violet to palest
green, then to yellow and then at last to the living blue of day above,
while a vast fan of golden light trembled above the spot whence the sun
would presently rise. The level rays gilded the slender cathedral
spire, and the glass of many a pointed gable-window in the town sent
back the flaming reflexion. All above was warm, and all below was cold
in the blue shadow that still darkened the flowing river and the narrow
streets beyond.
For a time Greif gave himself up to the pleasure of the sight and
sensation.
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