In the street the heat was insufferable again; not a drop of rain had fallen all those days. Again dust, bricks and mortar, again the stench from the shops and pothouses, again the drunken men, the Finnish pedlars and half-broken-down cabs. The sun shone straight in his eyes, so that it hurt him to look out of them, and he felt his head going round⁠—as a man in a fever is apt to feel when he comes out into the street on a bright sunny day.

When he reached the turning into the street, in an agony of trepidation he looked down it⁠ ⁠… at the house⁠ ⁠… and at once averted his eyes.

“If they question me, perhaps I’ll simply tell,” he thought, as he drew near the police-station.