The Face at the Window.

The train came through the rain into the station. Doors closed, passengers alighted; there was all the bustle of entraining and detraining. An anxious face appeared at one of the windows, and a voice called: “Porter!” “Sir?” “What station is this?” “What station do you want, sir?” “What stations have you got?” The train moved on; the perplexed official standing upon the platform gazed with open mouth upon the receding face of the traveller, which glowed benevolently upon him, like a red and setting sun.

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