XXIIILondinium sweated, sweated and rotted in the heat of a day that had surprised autumn by its sudden advent. But Londinium had sweated and rotted for two hundred years now, and was little changed after it all. This was perhaps the principal virtue of the city, that being ugly from its birth, it had no fear of the ravages that time would make on a comelier face.
The ramparts stood or fell as they pleased, for no one cared. If they stood, they provided a home for the probing roots of nettle and of willow-herb. If they fell, they provided masonry for another hovel to spring up, haphazard as weeds themselves—like most of the other dwellings, now that Roman order was so long forgotten.
The river was still as busy as ever and far dirtier than before. Yet somehow its bustling life had an ind
