I walked down to the Park, which is the chief centre
of the place, and I found that I liked everything I saw
of it. It was a lovely evening, and the air was fresh
and sweet. I sat down and listened to the band for an
hour, watching all the family parties, and feeling
particularly lonely. Music nearly always puts me into
the minor key; so there came a time when I could stand it
no longer, and I set off to find my way back to my
lodgings. On the whole, I felt that Birchespool was
a place in which a man might very well spend a happy
life.
At one end of Cadogan Terrace (where I am lodging)
there is a wide open space where several streets meet.
In the centre of this stands a large lamp in the middle
of a broad stone pedestal, a foot or so high, and ten or
twelve across. Well, as I strolled along I saw there was
something going on round this lamppost. A crowd of
people had gathered, with a swirl in the centre. I was,
of course, absolutely determined not to get mixed up in
any row; but I could not help pushing my way through the
crowd to see what was the matter.
It wasn't a pretty sight. A woman, pinched and
bedraggled, with a baby on her arm, was being knocked
about by a burly brute of a fellow whom I judged to be
her husband from the way in which he cherished her. He
was one of those red-faced, dark-eyed men who can look
peculiarly malignant when they choose. It was clear that
he was half mad with drink, and that she had been trying
to lure him away from some den.
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