never glancing right nor left. Far-off footsteps, rising swiftly into
sound, as swiftly fading, echoed round their lonely comers. Dreading,
yet drawn on, I would creep along their pavements as through some city
of the dead, thinking of the eyes I saw not watching from the thousand
windows; starting at each muffled sound penetrating the long, dreary
walls, behind which that close-packed, writhing life lay hid.

One day there came a cry from behind a curtained window. I stood
still for a moment and then ran; but before I could get far enough
away I heard it again, a long, piercing cry, growing fiercer before it
ceased; so that I ran faster still, not heeding where I went, till I
found myself in a raw, unfinished street, ending in black waste land,
bordering the river. I stopped, panting, wondering how I should find
my way again. To recover myself and think I sat upon the doorstep of
an empty house, and there came dancing down the road with a curious,
half-running, half-hopping step--something like a water wagtail's--a
child, a boy about my own age, who, after eyeing me strangely sat down
beside me.

We watched each other for a few minutes; and I noticed that his mouth
kept opening and shutting, though he said nothing. Suddenly, edging
closer to me, he spoke in a thick whisper. It sounded as though his
mouth were full of wool.

"Wot 'appens to yer when yer dead?"

"If you're good you go to Heaven. If you're bad you go to Hell."

"Long way off, both of 'em, ain't they?"