Feuilly takes it all in gratefully, even the light rain that has started in again. It's another nation's rain! Falling on another nation's people, from a sky that France shares, but elsewhere--

It's also chilly and wet. Feuilly wipes his face. "I don't--" He doesn't think they possibly could. But then he remembers: when I so little love the thing I am. Why not dream of running away? "--I would love to see Coventry."