The character of the streets changed as the central districts were left
behind, and a curious scent, the scent of Suburbia, seemed to float
between the tall chimneys in the morose atmosphere. The purple chariot,
which rolled on and on like the chariot of Fate, drew gradually away
from the large thoroughfares into mean streets, whose air of dull
gentility was for ever autumnal, and the Prophet, on passing some
gigantic gasworks, mechanically wondered whether it might not, perhaps,
be that monument to whose shadow Malkiel the First had lived and died.
Once, looking up at the black sky, he remarked to the little Capricornus
that it was evidently going to rain.
"No, Mr. Vivian," replied the boy. "It won't rain hard this week.
January's a fine month, but there'll be heavy floods in March,
especially along the banks of the Thames."
"And in February there'll be such a lot of scarlet fever in the southern
portions of England," added the little Corona. "Oh, Corney, just look at
that kitty on the airey railings!"
"Area, Corona," corrected her brother. "Oh, my! ain't it funny?"
The Prophet remembered that he was travelling with the scions of a
prophetic house.
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