“I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. Ten thousand islands, and each one good for a night's rest. We have him as safe as a linnet in a cage; and could wring his neck round as easily. There’s plenty to be got out of life in a decent sort of way. “Shit happens, John. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. I couldn’t help the thought.
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