He buried his nose in the collar of his fur coat, and the
odors of camphor and raccoon skins instantly assailed him, but
he only yawned luxuriously and disappeared into the coat as a
turtle draws into its shell. From the woods about him the
smell of the pine needles pressed upon him like a drug, and
before the footsteps of his companions were lost in the
silence he was asleep. But his sleep was only a review of his
waking hours. Still on either hand rose flying dust clouds
and twirling leaves; still on either side raced gray stone
walls, telegraph poles, hills rich in autumn colors; and
before him a long white road, unending, interminable,
stretching out finally into a darkness lit by flashing
shop-windows, like open fireplaces, by street lamps, by
swinging electric globes, by the blinding searchlights of
hundreds of darting trolley cars with terrifying gongs, and
then a cold white mist, and again on every side, darkness,
except where the four great lamps blazed a path through
stretches of ghostly woods.

As the two young men slumbered, the lamps spluttered and
sizzled like bacon in a frying-pan, a stone rolled noisily
down the bank, a white owl, both appalled and fascinated by
the dazzling eyes of the monster blocking the road, hooted,
and flapped itself away. But the men in the car only shivered
slightly, deep in the sleep of utter weariness.

In silence the girl and Winthrop followed the chauffeur. They
had passed out of the light of the lamps, and in the autumn
mist the electric torch of the owner was as ineffective as a