This Time, Tomorrow

This Time, TomorrowThe Fog was in its third day. It was thickest close to the pavement, where automobile exhaust weighed it down. Benstead lighted a match and looked at his watch. Three-twenty in the afternoon, and black as midnight. From the light pattern he judged he must be near Trafalgar Square. He had been nearly an hour and a half walking from St. Thomas' Hospital, just across the Thames.He had waited in the hospital courtyard, walled around by the blackened bricks of the old buildings, li...