The grocery store in the basement of Number 11--my father's old store--was still open for business; and in the gutter in front of the store, to be sure, was a happy baby, just as there used to be.
I was not alone on this tour of inspection.

I was attended by a trusty escort.

But I brought soap and water with me.

I am applying them now.
I found no fault with Wheeler Street when I was fourteen years old.

On the contrary, I pronounced it good.