, Mr. Snagsby observes, as a novelty, that, however quick
their pace may be, his companion still seems in some undefinable manner to lurk
and lounge; also, that whenever he is going to turn to the right or left, he
pretends to have a fixed purpose in his mind of going straight ahead, and wheels
off, sharply, at the very last moment. Now and then, when they pass a
police-constable on his beat, Mr. Snagsby notices that both the constable and
his guide fall into a deep abstraction as they come towards each other, and
appear entirely to overlook each other, and to gaze into space. In a few
instances, Mr. Bucket, coming behind some under-sized young man with a shining
hat on, and his sleek hair twisted into one flat curl on each side of his head,
almost without glancing at him touches him with his stick; upon which the young
man, looking round, instantly evaporates. For the most part Mr. Bucket notices
things in general, with a face as unchanging as the great mourning ring on his
little finger, or the brooch, composed of not much diamond and a good deal of
setting, which he wears in his shirt.
    When they come at last to Tom-all-Alone's, Mr. Bucket stops for a moment at
the corner, and takes a lighted bull's-eye from the constable on duty there, who
then accompanies him with his own particular bull's-eye at his waist. Between
his two conductors, Mr. Snagsby passes along the middle of a villainous street,
undrained, unventilated, deep in black mud and corrupt water - though the roads
are dry elsewhere - and reeking with such smells and sights that he, who has
lived in London all his life, can scarce believe his senses. Branching from this
street and its heaps of ruins, are other streets and courts so infamous that Mr.
Snagsby sickens in body and mind, and feels as if he were going, every moment
deeper down, into the infernal gulf.
    »Draw off a bit here, Mr. Snagsby,« says Bucket, as a kind of shabby
palanquin is borne towards them, surrounded by a noisy crowd. »Here's the fever
coming up the street!«
    As the unseen wretch goes by, the crowd, leaving that object of attraction,
hovers round the three visitors, like a dream of horrible faces, and fades away
up alleys and into ruins, and behind walls; and with occasional cries and shrill
whistles of warning, thenceforth flits