To the south of Kensington Gardens, high above the watchful glittering towers of The Grand Imperial Institute, wholesome breezes fell upon the narrow arboreal road leading to the quiet repectable villas of Dorset Square. Further to the south… The Thames shone silvery like the winding path of a passing snail in that lowering black dead of night.
From ‘The World of Irene Mansell’ by Patrick Callaghan