A Word to the Well-Fed
I found myself in an unexpected world that morning. It might have been a continental city, it was so early astir. Whitechapel was already going to work; foreign faces gleamed brightly in the street. Everyone wished each other good morning—mostly in foreign tongues, and from the open doorways and shop fronts, you caught occasional gleams of vivid colour. Most of the people are Jews especially the small shopkeepers, and some of them have retained to this day the externals of their Eastern origins.