this."

A watery gleam of sunshine flashed from the west and went out between
two long lines of walls; and then the broken confusion of roofs, the
chimney-stacks, the gold letters sprawling over the fronts of houses,
the sombre polish of windows, stood resigned and sullen under the
falling gloom. The whole length of the street, deep as a well and narrow
like a corridor, was full of a sombre and ceaseless stir. Our ears
were filled by a headlong shuffle and beat of rapid footsteps and by
an underlying rumour--a rumour vast, faint, pulsating, as of panting
breaths, of beating hearts, of gasping voices. Innumerable eyes stared
straight in front, feet moved hurriedly, blank faces flowed, arms swung.
Over all, a narrow ragged strip of smoky sky wound about between the
high roofs, extended and motionless, like a soiled streamer flying above
the rout of a mob.

"Ye-e-e-s," said Jackson, meditatively.

The big wheels of hansoms turned slowly along the edge of side-walks;
a pale-faced youth strolled, overcome by weariness, by the side of his
stick and with the tails of his overcoat flapping gently near his heels;
horses stepped gingerly on the greasy pavement, tossing their heads; two
young girls passed by, talking vivaciously and with shining eyes; a fine
old fellow strutted, red-faced, stroking a white moustache; and a line
of yellow boards with blue letters on them approached us slowly, tossing
on high behind one another like some queer wreckage adrift upon a river
of hats.

"Ye-e-es," repeated Jackson. His clear blue eyes looked about,
contemptuous, amused and hard, like the eyes of a boy. A clumsy string
of red, yellow, and green omnibuses rolled swaying, monstrous and gaudy;
two shabby children ran across the road; a knot of dirty men with
red neckerchiefs round their bare throats lurched along, discussing
filthily; a ragged old man with a face of despair yelled horribly in
the mud the name of a paper; while far off, amongst the tossing heads of
horses, the dull flash of harnesses, the jumble of lustrous panels
and roofs of carriages, we could see a policeman, helmeted and dark,
stretching out a rigid arm at the crossing of the streets.

"Yes; I see it," said Jackson, slowly. "It is there; it pants, it runs,
it rolls; it is strong and alive; it would smash you if you didn't look
out; but I'll be hanged if it is yet as real to me as . . . as the other
thing . . . say, Karain's story."

I think that, decidedly, he had