He was tall, but a little round-shouldered, about thirty five to forty years of age, and dressed with that particular kind of shabbiness which marks a member of the intelligentsia on a holiday. He walked fairly fast, and doggedly, without looking much about him, like a man trying shorten the way with some interesting train of thought.

The Pedestrian was too experienced to build any very sanguine hopes on this, but there seemed nothing else within range. His only chance now was Sterk, on the far side of the hills, and a good six miles away. The kindly old landlord on whom he had reckoned had been replaced by someone whom the bar-maid referred to as 'the lady,' and the lady was apparently a British innkeeper of that orthodox school who regard guests as a nuisance. The place had changed hands since he last went for a walking tour in these parts. If he had chosen to look back, which he did not, he could have seen the spire of Much Nadderby, and, seeing it, might have uttered a malediction on the inhospitable little hotels which, though obviously empty, had refused him a bed. The Pedestrian wasted no time on the landscape but set out at once with the determined stride of a good walker who has lately realized that he will have to walk farther than he intended. Every tree and blade of grass was dripping, and the road shone like a river. A violent yellow sunset was pouring through a rift in the clouds to westward, but straight ahead over the hills the sky was the colour of dark slate.

THE LAST drops of the thundershower had hardly ceased falling when the Pedestrian stuffed his map into his pocket, settled his pack more comfortably on his tired shoulders, and stepped out from the shelter of a large chestnut tree into the middle of the road.

Out of the silent planet amazon