The late-October afternoon turned to dusk, and dusk to evening. Light dimmed to darkness outside the windows of the Britannia Club lounge, and flared up again with the fog-fuzzed glow of the street lamps. Sunset came noticeably earlier now, with October beginning to fade into the expectation of November. The season of fog was upon London: yellow-grey curls of moisture seeped up from the grates to climb the iron lamp posts and wilt the starch of one’s collar. Inside, shadows gathered at the cor. . .

The late-October afternoon turned to dusk, and dusk to evening. Light dimmed to darkness outside the windows of the Britannia Club lounge, and flared up again with the fog-fuzzed glow of the street lamps. Sunset came noticeably earlier now, with October beginning to fade into the expectation of November. The season of fog was upon London: yellow-grey curls of moisture seeped up from the grates to climb the iron lamp posts and wilt the starch of one’s collar. Inside, shadows gathered at the cor. . .

The Britannia Club stood on King Street, a respectable limestone facade among respectable limestone facades, with a brass plaque that nobody had looked at in decades; if you had to stop to check the address, you were clearly in the wrong place.

This was St. James. “Clubland.”

The men traversing these streets walked with that air of self-assurance that comes from belonging to a privileged set. In bookish Bloomsbury, the Londoners drifted around the British Museum in the wake of lit. . .

The Britannia Club stood on King Street, a respectable limestone facade among respectable limestone facades, with a brass plaque that nobody had looked at in decades; if you had to stop to check the address, you were clearly in the wrong place.

This was St. James. “Clubland.”

The men traversing these streets walked with that air of self-assurance that comes from belonging to a privileged set. In bookish Bloomsbury, the Londoners drifted around the British Museum in the wake of lit. . .