Sunday, April 23, 1882, opened with a wet morning. The clouds were thick and heavy. The smoke seemed to hover, struggle and rise again as if life depended on its mounting higher than the patched and broken roofs of London houses. The rain came down drearily, dribbly, and drizzly. It hung upon my garments with saturating tendencies, and I really got wet through before I was aware of it. The roads were very uncomfortable for feet in non-watertight boots...
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