London at Yuletide!
A mantle of white lay upon the Embankment, where our story opens,
gleaming and glistening as it caught the rays of the cold December
sun; an embroidery of white fringed the trees; and under a canopy of
white the proud palaces of Savoy and Cecil reared their silent
heads. The mighty river in front was motionless, for the finger of
Death had laid its icy hand upon it. Above--the hard blue sky
stretching to eternity; below--the white purity of innocence. London
in the grip of winter!
[EDITOR. Come, I like this. This is going to be good. A cold day,
was it not?