In South Kensington the streets were clear of dead and of black
powder.  It was near South Kensington that I first heard the howling.
It crept almost imperceptibly upon my senses.  It was a sobbing
alternation of two notes, "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," keeping on
perpetually.  When I passed streets that ran northward it grew in
volume, and houses and buildings seemed to deaden and cut it off
again.  It came in a full tide down Exhibition Road.  I stopped,
staring towards Kensington Gardens, wondering at this strange, remote
wailing.  It was as if that mighty desert of houses had found a voice
for its fear and solitude.