noon
The shattering rattle of the chains of a steam crane , when the monster iron-arm swung round seeking or depositing its burden and the crank ran out in harsh anger , as it seemed , and defiance . And through all this , as under-current , the confused clamour of the ever-shifting , ever-present crowd , and the small , steady drip of the rain . Squalid , sordid , brutal even , the coarse actualities of her trade and her poverty alike disclosed , her fictions and her foulness uncondoned by reconciling sunshine , Naples had declined from radiant goddess to common drab . It was in this character that Richard Calmady , driving yesterday , and for the first time , through the streets at noon , had been fated to see his so fondly-idealised city . It was in this character that he apprehended it again to-day , waiting in his deck-cabin until cessation of the rain and on-coming of the friendly dusk should render it not wholly odious to sit out on deck . The hours lagged , and even this bright and usually spotless apartment -- with its shining , white walls , its dark , blue leather and polished , mahogany fittings -- the coal dust penetrated . It rimmed the edge of the books neatly ranged on the racks .