Some vague consciousness of this now and then arrested him in his long purposeless walks; he began to be aware of seeing common things with new eyes.

But the perception was akin to fear; he started and looked nervously about, as if suddenly aware of some peril.
One afternoon he was on his way home from a westward trudge, plodding along the remoter part of Fulham Road, when words spoken by a woman whom he passed caught his ears.
"See 'ere! The shutters is up.

Boxon must be dead." Boxon?
How did he come to know that name?
He slackened his pace, reflecting.

Why, Boxon was the name of the betting and drinking grocer, with whom Allchin used to be.

He stopped, and saw a group of three or four women staring at the closed shop.