It was a midsummer's day in Washington. Even at early morning, while the sun was yet level with the faces of pedestrians¹ in its broad, shadeless avenues, it was insufferably hot. Later the avenues themselves shone like the diverging² rays of another sun,—the Capitol,—a thing to be feared by the naked eye. Later yet it grew hotter, and then a mist arose from the Potomac, and blotted³ out the blazing arch above, and presently piled up along the horizon delusive⁴ thunder clouds, that spent their strength and substance elsewhere, and left it hotter than before. Towards evening the sun came out invigorated, having cleared the heavenly brow of perspiration⁵, but leaving its fever unabated.

 

The city was deserted⁶. The few who remained apparently⁷ buried themselves from the garish⁸ light of day in some dim, cloistered⁹ recess¹⁰ of shop, hotel, or restaurant; and the perspiring¹¹ stranger, dazed by the outer glare, who broke in upon their quiet, sequestered¹² repose¹³, confronted collarless and coatless specters of the past, with fans in their hands, who, after dreamily going through some perfunctory business, immediately

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