Zuleika Dobson, Or, An Oxford Love Story

That old bell, presage of a train, had just sounded through Oxfordstation; and the undergraduates, who were waiting there, gay figures intweed or flannel, moved to the margin of the platform and gazed idlyup the line. Young and careless, in the glow of the afternoon sunshine, hey struck a sharp note of incongruity with the worn boards they stood n, with the fading signals and grey eternal walls of that antique tation, which, familiar to them and insignificant, does yet whisper to he tourist the