Howards End (1910)

The station for Howards End was at Hilton, one of the large villages that are strung so frequently along the North Road, and that owe their size to the traffic of coaching and pre-coaching days. Being near London, it had not shared in the rural decay, and its long High Street had budded out right and left into residential estates. For about a mile a series of tiled and slated houses passed before Mrs. Munt's inattentive eyes, a series broken at one point by six Danish tumuli that stood shoulder to shoulder along the highroad, tombs of soldiers. Beyond these tumuli, habitations thickened, and the train came to a standstill in a tangle that was almost a town.

The station, like the scenery, like Helen's letters, struck an indeterminate note. Into which country will it lead, England or Suburbia? It was new, it had island platforms and a subway, and the superficial comfort exacted by business men. But it held hints of local life, personal intercourse, as even Mrs. Munt was to discover.

Margaret took a hansom to King's Cross. ... She strained her eyes for St. Pancras' clock. Then the clock of King's Cross swung into sight, a second moon in that infernal sky, and her cab drew up at the station. She took a ticket ... They began the walk up the long platform. Far at the end stood the train, breasting the darkness without.

The fog pressed against the windows like an excluded ghost.