Hippolyte Taine om London.

A wet Sunday in London: shops closed, streets almost empty; the aspect of a vast and well-kept graveyard. The few people in this desert of squares and streets, hurrying beneath their umbrellas, look like unquiet ghosts; it is horrible. A thick yellow fog fills the air, sinks, crawls on the very ground [Jfr. dimman hos [...]

Läs hela inlägget »