Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
1
235
The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
29
I
see
that
alley
hidden
on
the
west
side
of
Tottenham
Court
Road,
where,
after
living
in
a
back
bedroom
on
the
top
floor,
I
had
to
exchange
for
the
front
cellar;
there
was
a
difference,
if
I
remember
rightly,
of
sixpence
a
week,
and
sixpence,
in
those
days,
was
a
very
great
consideration--why,
it
meant
a
couple
of
meals.
(I
once
found
sixpence
in
the
street,
and
had
an
exultation
which
is
vivid
in
me
at
this
moment.)
The
front
cellar
was
stone-floored;
its
furniture
was
a
table,
a
chair,
a
wash-stand,
and
a
bed;
the
window,
which
of
course
had
never
been
cleaned
since
it
was
put
in,
received
light
through
a
flat
grating
in
the
alley
above.
Here
I
lived;
here
I
wrote.
Yes,
"literary
work"
was
done
at
that
filthy
deal
table,
on
which,
by
the
bye,
lay
my
Homer,
my
Shakespeare,
and
the
few
other
books
I
then
possessed.
At
night,
as
I
lay
in
bed,
I
used
to
hear
the
tramp,
tramp
of
a
posse
of
policemen
who
passed
along
the
alley
on
their
way
to
relieve
guard;
their
heavy
feet
sometimes
sounded
on
the
grating
above
my
window.
I
recall
a
tragi-comical
incident
of
life
at
the
British
Museum.
Once,
on
going
down
into
the
lavatory
to
wash
my
hands,
I
became
aware
of
a
notice
newly
set
up
above
the
row
of
basins.
It
ran
somehow
thus:
"Readers
are
requested
to
bear
in
mind
that
these
basins
are
to
be
used
only
for
casual
ablutions."
Oh,
the
significance
of
that
inscription!
Had
I
not
myself,
more
than
once,
been
glad
to
use
this
soap
and
water
more
largely
than
the
sense
of
the
authorities
contemplated?
And
there
were
poor
fellows
working
under
the
great
dome
whose
need,
in
this
respect,
was
greater
than
mine.
I
laughed
heartily
at
the
notice,
but
it
meant
so
much.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
