George Gissing

The Nether World George Gissing

In the troubled twilight of a March evening ten years ago, an old man, whose equipmentand bearing suggested that he was fresh from travel, walked slowly across ClerkenwellGreen, and by the graveyard of St. James's Church stood for a moment looking about him. His age could not be far from seventy, but, despite the stoop of his shoulders, he gavelittle sign of failing under the burden of years; his sober step indicated gravity of characterrather than bodily feebleness, and his grasp of a stout stick was not such as bespeaksneed of support. His attire was neither that of a man of leisure, nor of the kind usuallyworn by English mechanics.