Both in going and returning, I had seen the signal in his window, All well.
As it was a raw evening, and I was cold, I thought I would comfort myself with dinner at once; and as I had hours of dejection and solitude before me if I went home to the Temple, I thought I would afterwards go to the play.

The theatre where Mr.Wopsle had achieved his questionable triumph was in that water-side neighborhood (it is nowhere now), and to that theatre I resolved to go.

I was aware that Mr.Wopsle had not succeeded in reviving the Drama, but, on the contrary, had rather partaken of its decline.

He had been ominously heard of, through the play-bills, as a faithful Black, in connection with a little girl of noble birth, and a monkey.

And Herbert had seen him as a predatory Tartar of comic propensities, with a face like a red brick, and an outrageous hat all over bells.
I dined at what Herbert and I used to call a geographical chop-house, where there were maps of the world in porter-pot rims on every half-yard of the tablecloths, and charts of gravy on every one of the knives,--to this day there is scarcely a single chop-house within the Lord Mayor's dominions which is not geographical,--and wore out the time in dozing over crumbs, staring at gas, and baking in a hot blast of dinners.