Thank God, if our great man is one-third dreamer, he is two-thirds doer, and can weigh his counsellors." Whereupon, feeling sharp-set with the cold and the day's labour, he replenished the fire with a beech faggot, resumed the riding cloak he had undone and, after giving his servant some instructions, went forth to sup in a tavern.

He went unattended, as was his custom.

The city was too sunk in depression to be unruly.
He crossed Chancery Lane and struck through the narrow courts which lay between Fleet Street and Holborn.

His goal was Gilpin's in Fetter Lane, a quiet place much in favour with those of the long robe.

The streets seemed curiously quiet.