Quaintly enough, My dirty and dishevelled appearance served to protect me in these low, swarming streets. Last night's drunkards groaned in the gutters. A girl in a grimy pinafore and not much else huddled in a doorway, her bare feet blue with cold. Boys in shabby shirts and trousers enormously too big for them, rolled up like life-preservers around their twiggy limbs, ran after a well-upholstered woman, begging for pennies. Wives emptied slops, flannel-vested workmen trudged about their business; a man with a push-cart shouted, "'Ot buns, sausage, suet pudding! 'Ot fat pudding fer yer breakfast!"

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