As the Continental express from the Hook of Holland reached Schiedaam the traveller who was not fast asleep—most were—could see the old town where work crowns war—each bastion bears a windmill, while from the city within the walls endlessly rise and silently drift away masses of white smoke clouds, showing for one moment, hiding the next, the spires, towers, and domes of the city. I do not know what makes the smoke clouds—whether Schnaaps or not—but there they always are—and are always to be seen from the station platform from which I made the drawing.
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