“Whom Long Thomas has taken for his leman,” he repeated in his heart; and it seemed to him as if the lights of the town, which now began to welcome them, were the lights of a certain imaginary city which from his early childhood had appeared and disappeared on the margin of his mind. It was wont to appear in strange places, this city of his fancy⁠ ⁠… at the bottom of teacups⁠ ⁠… or the windowpanes of privies⁠ ⁠… in the soapy water of baths⁠ ⁠… in the dirty marks on wallpapers⁠ ⁠… in the bleak coals of dead Summer-grates⁠ ⁠… between the rusty railings of deserted burying-grounds⁠ ⁠… above the miserable patterns of faded carpets⁠ ⁠… among the nameless litter of pavement-gutters.⁠ ⁠… But whenever he had seen it, it was always associated with the first lighting up of lamps, and with the existence, but not necessarily the presence, of someone⁠ ⁠… some girl⁠ ⁠… some boy⁠ ⁠… some unknown⁠ ⁠… whose place in his life would resemble that first lighting of lamps⁠ ⁠… that sense of arriving out of the cold darkness of empty fields and lost ways into the rich, warm, glowing security of that mysterious town.⁠ ⁠…