Joseph Conrad

The Secret Agent Joseph Conrad

Such was the house, the household, and the business Mr Verloc left behind him on his waywestward at the hour of half-past ten in the morning. It was unusually early for him; his wholeperson exhaled the charm of almost dewy freshness; he wore his blue cloth overcoat unbuttoned; hisboots were shiny; his cheeks, freshly shaven, had a sort of gloss; and even his heavy-lidded eyes, refreshed by a night of peaceful slumber, sent out glances of comparative alertness. Through thepark railings these glances beheld men and women riding in the Row, couples cantering pastharmoniously, others advancing sedately at a walk, loitering groups of three or four, solitaryhorsemen looking unsociable, and solitary women followed at a long distance by a groom with acockade to his hat and a leather belt over his tight-fitting coat. Carriages went bowling by, mostlytwo-horse broughams, with here and there a victoria with the skin of some wild beast inside and awoman's face and hat emerging above the folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun-againstwhich nothing could be said except that it looked bloodshot-glorified all this by its stare. It hungat a moderate elevation above Hyde Park Corner with an air of punctual and benign vigilance. Thevery pavement under Mr Verloc's feet had an old-gold tinge in that diffused light, in which neitherwall, nor tree, nor beast, nor man cast a shadow. Mr Verloc was going westward through a townwithout shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold. There were red, coppery gleams on theroofs of houses, on the corners of walls, on the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the horses, and on the broad back of Mr Verloc's overcoat, where they produced a dull effect of rustiness. ButMr Verloc was not in the least conscious of having got rust