It was like the fear of the sea; and the miserable multitudes, street upon street, seemed so many waves of a vast and malodorous sea, lapping about me and threatening to well up and over me.
"Stepney, sir; Stepney Station," the cabby called down.
I looked about.

It was really a railroad station, and he had driven desperately to it as the one familiar spot he had ever heard of in all that wilderness.
"Well," I said.
He spluttered unintelligibly, shook his head, and looked very miserable.
"I'm a strynger 'ere," he managed to articulate.

"An' if yer don't want Stepney Station, I'm blessed if I know wotcher do want." "I'll tell you what I want," I said.

"You drive along and keep your eye out for a shop where old clothes are sold.

Now, when you see such a shop, drive right on till you turn the corner, then stop and let me out." I could see that he was growing dubious of his fare, but not long afterwards he pulled up to the curb and informed me that an old-clothes shop was to be found a bit of the way back.
"Won'tcher py me ?" he pleaded.