Passers-by [antikvár]

passers-byCHAPTER ITHERE was nothing particularly inviting about the dark, stone-flagged passage, nothing which could possibly suggest a happy hunting-ground for the itinerant seeker after charity. Yet the little cavalcade passing wearily along the Strand welcomed it as at any rate a temporary refuge from the constant admonitions of a very vigilant police. A word and a glance were all that passed between the girl and the atom of deformity who wheeled the small piano. They crossed the pavement, and made their way down the inhospitable-looking passage. It led by a somewhat devious route to the Embankment, although at the present moment passers-by were few. On the left-hand side were a couple of shops, dirty, ill-cared for, improvident. On the right, a blank wall. In front, a small section of a great hotel. About half-way down was a gas lamp, burning with a dim, uncertain lustre, feebly reflected through the dirt-encrusted glass. The place had an unattractive and deserted air. Nevertheless, the man who had been wheeling the piano brought it to a stand-still there, with a little gasp of relief. The girl stood by his side, and for a moment buried her face upon her folded arms, leaning upon the top of the instrument. With a prodigious yawn, a small monkey, who had been asleep in a basket, awoke and shook himself.5