The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (2.1894)

Passed

By Charlotte M. Mew

"Like souls that meeting pass,
And passing never meet again."

Cr those who have missed a romantic view of London in its
poorest quarters—and there will romance be round—wait
for a sunset in early winter. They may turn North or South,
towards Islington or Westminster, and encounter some fine
pictures and more than one aspect of unique beauty. This hour
of pink twilight has its monopoly of effects. Some of them may
never be reached again.

On such an evening in mid-Decembcr, I put down my Sewing
and left tarne glories of fire-light (discoverers of false charm) to
welcome, as youth may, the contrast of keen air outdoors to the
glow within.

My aim was the perfection of a latent appetite, for I had no
mind to content myself with an apology for hunger, consequent
on a warmly passive afternoon.

The splendid cold of fierce frost set my spirit dancing. The
road rung hard underfoot, and through the lonely Squares woke
sharp echoes from behind. This stinging air assailed my cheeks
with vigorous severity. It stirred my blood grandly, and brought

thought