"A London fog, solid, substantial, yellow as an old dog's tooth or a
jaundiced eye. You could not look through it, nor yet gaze up and down
it, nor over it; and you only thought you saw it. The eye became
impotent, untrustworthy; all senses lay fallow except that of touch; the
skin alone conveyed to you with promptness and no incertitude that this
thing had substance. You could feel it; you could open and shut your
hands and sense it on your palms, and it penetrated your clothes and
beaded your spectacles and rings and bracelets and shoe-buckles. It was
nightmare, bereft of its pillows, grown somnambulistic; and London
became the antechamber to Hades, lackeyed by idle dreams and peopled by
mistakes." Reprint of the 1915 classic mystery story.