In Dover Street there was often no loaf on the table, but the hand of some noble friend was ever in mine.
The night in Dover Street was rent with the cries of wrong, but the thunders of truth crashed through the pitiful clamor and died out in prophetic silences.
Outwardly, Dover Street is a noisy thoroughfare cut through a South End slum, in every essential the same as Wheeler Street.

Turn down any street in the slums, at random, and call it by whatever name you please, you will observe there the same fashions of life, death, and endurance.

Every one of those streets is a rubbish heap of damaged humanity, and it will take a powerful broom and an ocean of soapsuds to clean it out.
Dover Street is intersected, near its eastern end, where we lived, by Harrison Avenue.

That street is to the South End what Salem Street is to the North End.

It is the heart of the South End ghetto, for the greater part of its length; although its northern end belongs to the realm of Chinatown.