'
'Somebody was saying that he had gone in for medicine--walking one of the
hospitals--that kind of thing.'
'Yes, he's at Guy's.'
To avoid infinite questioning, Harvey flung aside his review and went to
glance at the _Times_. He read the news concerning the great physician.
Then, as his pursuer drew near again, he hastily departed.
By midday he was at London Bridge. He crossed to the Surrey side, turned
immediately to the left, and at a short distance entered one of the vaulted
thoroughfares which run beneath London Bridge Station. It was like the
mouth of some monstrous cavern. Out of glaring daylight he passed into
gloom and chill air; on either side of the way a row of suspended lamps
gave a dull, yellow light, revealing entrances to vast storehouses, most of
them occupied by wine merchants; an alcoholic smell prevailed over
indeterminate odours of dampness. There was great concourse of drays and
waggons; wheels and the clang of giant hoofs made roaring echo, and above
thundered the trains. The vaults, barely illumined with gas-jets, seemed of
infinite extent; dim figures moved near and far, amid huge barrels, cases,
packages; in rooms partitioned off by glass framework men sat writing.
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