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Iseemtorecallbestajourneywemadebytramonewinternight.
WeweregoingtovisitmyGrannyatWestoe,andIwasveryexcited,becauseaneveningexcursionwassomethingquiteunheardofforme.Ithadbeenraining;thegaslampslitthegleamingpavementsandcobbleswithadoubledradiance.Theshakingtramwiresweresendingdownshowersofwhiteraindrops.Everythingintheramseemedfreshandglittering.Thebreezywindowssparkledwithlongzigzagsofrainandthepassingstreetlampflaredgorgeouslythroughthepanelsofblueandyellowandrubyglass.Outside,itwascoldandwindy,andwecouldfeelthegalebuffetingagainstthesideofthetram,makingitswayandlurchorethanusual,andthrowingthepassengersofsong,andthefresh,clean,coldsea-windwasblowingrightthroughtheupperdeck.Above,ahighhalf-moonseemedtobeskiddingalongonitsbackthroughpilesofblack,white-linedrags.Itwasawildnight,withasenseofmagicintheoffing.Thepeopleinthetramdidnotlikeordinarymortals;akindofexhilaratinggaietyhadseizedthem,anditseseememedtolightentheirbodiesandilluminatetheirfaces.AttimesIwassurewewerereallyflying.