hurry things, and the wife below ties up much in an old allegedly
green or red table-cloth, on the pavement, at the last moment. Van of
the "bottle ho" variety. It is all done very quickly, and nobody
takes any notice--they are never there long enough. Landlord,
landlady, or rent collector--or whatever it is--calls later on; maybe,
knocks in a tired, even bored, way; makes inquiries next door, and
goes away, leaving the problem to take care of itself--all kind of
casual. The business people of North Sydney, especially removers and
labourers, are very casual. Down old Blue's Point Road the folk get
so casual that they just exist, but don't seem to do so.

One thing I never could make out about Skull Terrace is that when one
house becomes vacant from a house agent's point of view--there is a
permanent atmosphere of vacancy about the whole terrace--the people of
another move into it. And there's not the slightest difference
between the houses. It is because the removal is such a small affair,
I suppose, and the change is, the main thing. I always do better for
awhile in a new house--but then I always did seem to get on better
somewhere else.

There are many points, or absence of points, about Skull Terrace that
fit in with Jim's casualness as against Bill's character, therefore
Blue's Point Road ought to be James's Street.

But just now, in the heat of summer, the terrace happens to be full,
and all the blinds are decent--the two new-comers are newly come down
to Skull Terrace, and the other blinds are looked up, washed, and
fixed up by force of example or from very shame's sake.

All of which seems to have nothing whatever to do with the story,