CHAPTER XXXII. LONDON.
London is the candle which, ever attracting country moths by its feverish glare destroys them remorselessly in its cruel flame.
Reginald Blake was not enjoying himself very much in Town owing to his disturbed state of mind. For years he had pictured to himself the marvellous city and his life therein; how he would one day find himself a denizen of the great metropolis, eager to win fame and fortune by the magic of his voice, how he would delight in leading the ambitious, half Bohemian, wholly delightful existence of a singer, and how he would be able to wander about the streets and see the brilliant life of the mighty city with its restless activity and ardent strivings after wealth, fame and novelty. Grey Westminster Abbey, noble St. Paul's, the enormous pile of t
