the hour of eight
Egremont kept his face towards the river , that he might see no one . There was no likelihood that Thyrza would pass . If she did , if she were alone and saw him , he knew she would come up to him and speak . The bell at Westminster struck out the hour of eight . He turned off the Embankment and went on to Lambeth Bridge , stopping at length to lean on the parapet at the same place where Gilbert had stood and mused one night when his happiness was almost too great to bear . To Egremont the darkening scene was in accord with the wearied misery which made his life one dull pain . London lay beneath the night like a city of hopeless toil , of aimless conflict , of frustration and barrenness .