Sounds of gruff voices practising vocal music invade the evening's silence; and the fumes of choice tobacco scent the air.

There, snuff and cigars, and German pipes and flutes, and violins and violoncellos, divide the supremacy between them.

It is the region of song and smoke.

Street bands are on their mettle in Golden Square; and itinerant glee-singers quaver involuntarily as they raise their voices within its boundaries.
This would not seem a spot very well adapted to the transaction of business; but Mr Ralph Nickleby had lived there, notwithstanding, for many years, and uttered no complaint on that score.

He knew nobody round about, and nobody knew him, although he enjoyed the reputation of being immensely rich.