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In which the old Man launches forth into his favourite Theme, and relates a Story about a queer Clie

           Thenrubbinghischinwithhishand,andlookinguptotheceilingasiftorecallthecircumstancestohismemory,hebeganasfollows:

           THEOLDMAN’STALEABOUTTHEQUEERCLIENT‘Itmatterslittle,’saidtheoldman,‘where,orhow,Ipickedupthisbriefhistory.IfIweretorelateitintheorderinwhichitreachedme,Ishouldcommenceinthemiddle,andwhenIhadarrivedattheconclusion,gobackforabeginning.Itisenoughformetosaythatsomeofitscircumstancespassedbeforemyowneyes;fortheremainderIknowthemtohavehappened,andtherearesomepersonsyetliving,whowillrememberthembuttoowell.

           ‘IntheBoroughHighStreet,nearSt.George’sChurch,andonthesamesideoftheway,stands,asmostpeopleknow,thesmallestofourdebtors’prisons,theMarshalsea.Althoughinlatertimesithasbeenaverydifferentplacefromthesinkoffilthanddirtitoncewas,evenitsimprovedconditionholdsoutbutlittletemptationtotheextravagant,orconsolationtotheimprovident.ThecondemnedfelonhasasgoodayardforairandexerciseinNewgate,astheinsolventdebtorintheMarshalseaPrison.[Better.Butthisispast,inabetterage,andtheprisonexistsnolonger.]

           ‘Itmaybemyfancy,oritmaybethatIcannotseparatetheplacefromtheoldrecollectionsassociatedwithit,butthispartofLondonIcannotbear.

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Roboto Lora
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