the atmosphere of Shooter's Gardens.

Having drunk her tea, Mrs. Candy lay down, as she was, on the
already extended mattress, and drew the ragged coverings about her.
In half an hour she slept.

Pennyloaf then put on her hat and jacket again and left the house.
She walked away from the denser regions of Clerkenwell, came to
Sadler's Wells Theatre (gloomy in its profitless recollection of the
last worthy manager that London knew), and there turned into
Myddelton Passage. It is a narrow paved walk between brick walls
seven feet high; on the one hand lies the New River Head, on the
other are small gardens behind Myddelton Square. The branches of a
few trees hang over; there are doors, seemingly never opened,
belonging one to each garden; a couple of gas-lamps shed feeble
light. Pennyloaf paced the length of the Passage several times,
meeting no one. Then a policeman came along with echoing tread, and
eyed her suspiciously. She had to wait more than a quarter of an
hour before Bob Hewett made his appearance. Greeting her with a nod
and a laugh, he took up a leaning position against the wall, and
began to put questions concerning the state of things at her home.

'And what'll your mother do if the old man don't give her nothing to
live on?' he inquired, when he had listened good-naturedly to the
recital of domestic difficulties.

'Don't knew,' replied the girl, shaking her head, the habitual
surprise of her countenance becoming a blank interrogation of
destiny.