In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. “Call it warning, if you like. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself.
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