It was no earthly good going out.

He could not find anywhere in London what he wanted.

But he went out.

He led a cortege of dismal thoughts along dark streets, through lighted streets, in and out of two flash bars, as if in a half-hearted attempt to make a night of it, and finally back again to his menaced home, where he sat down fatigued behind the counter, and they crowded urgently round him, like a pack of hungry black hounds.

After locking up the house and putting out the gas he took them upstairs with him--a dreadful escort for a man going to bed.