metropolis, only utterly silent, silent and white as tombstones.

And then I was glad of that strange strong rum, or whatever it was in
the flask that the shepherd gave me, for I did not think that the mist
would clear till night, and I feared the night would be cold. So I
nearly emptied the flask; and, sooner than I expected, I fell asleep,
for the first night out as a rule one does not sleep at once but is
kept awake some while by the little winds and the unfamiliar sound of
the things that wander at night, and that cry to one another far-off
with their queer, faint voices; one misses them afterwards when one
gets to houses again. But I heard none of these sounds in the mist
that evening.

And then I woke and found that the mist was gone and the sun was just
disappearing under the moor, and I knew that I had not slept for as
long as I thought. And I decided to go on while I could, for I thought
that I was not very far from the city.

I went on and on along the twisty track, bits of the mist came down
and filled the hollows but lifted again at once so that I saw my way.
The twilight faded as I went, a star appeared, and I was able to see
the track no longer. I could go no further that night, yet before I
lay down to sleep I decided to go and look over the edge of a wide
depression in the moor that I saw a little way off. So I left the
track and walked a few hundred yards, and when I got to the edge the
hollow was full of mist all white underneath me. Another star appeared
and a cold wind arose, and with the wind the mist flapped away like a
curtain. And there was the city.

Nothing the shepherd had said was the least untrue or even