H. W. Westbrook, Not George Washington — an Autobiographical Novel
“ Sloane Square, indeed, gave me the impression, not so much of a suburb as of the suburban portion of a great London railway terminus. It was positively pretty. People were shopping with comparative leisure, omnibus horses were being rubbed down and watered on the west side of the Square, out of the way of the main stream of traffic. A postman, clearing the letter-box at the office, stopped his work momentarily to read the contents of a postcard. For the moment I understood Caesar’s feelings on the brink of the Rubicon, and the emotions of Cortes “when with eagle eyes he stared at the Pacific.” ”
