20. Nightmarish faces
As evening fell I found myself being driven deep into the heart of the Eastern slums, through cobbled dock streets and past stinking dwellings. We weaved our way through the vile alleys that lurk east of London Bridge, past gin shops and slop shops. The cab driver would only take me so far.
“Down there, guvnor?” he chortled sarcastically. “You must be blooming joking, yer out of yer mind, guv. Here’s far enough.”
I stepped out and took in my surroundings. Fog swirled round the dark passageway. A drunken vagrant lay collapsed near my feet. He was either unconscious or dead. Part of me suspected the latter. Litter was piled against the damp red brick walls that lined the evil looking street. Plastered on the damp masonry at random intervals were posters advertising
