I awoke to find that dismal howling still in my ears, "Ulla, ulla,
ulla, ulla."  It was now dusk, and after I had routed out some
biscuits and a cheese in the bar--there was a meat safe, but it
contained nothing but maggots--I wandered on through the silent
residential squares to Baker Street--Portman Square is the only one I
can name--and so came out at last upon Regent's Park.  And as I
emerged from the top of Baker Street, I saw far away over the trees in
the clearness of the sunset the hood of the Martian giant from which
this howling proceeded.  I was not terrified.  I came upon him as if
it were a matter of course.  I watched him for some time, but he did
not move.  He appeared to be standing and yelling, for no reason that
I could discover.