Edited by Charles Aldarondo (aldarondo@yahoo.com)

George Gissing

The Nether World





CHAPTER I

A THRALL OF THRALLS




In the troubled twilight of a March evening ten years ago, an old
man, whose equipment and bearing suggested that he was fresh from
travel, walked slowly across Clerkenwell Green, 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 gave little sign of failing under the burden of years;
his sober step indicated gravity of character rather than bodily
feebleness, and his grasp of a stout stick was not such as bespeaks
need of support. His attire was neither that of a man of leisure,
nor of the kind usually worn by English mechanics. Instead of coat
and waistcoat, he wore a garment something like a fisherman's
guernsey, and over this a coarse short cloak, picturesque in
appearance as it was buffeted by the wind. His trousers were of