have attained a depth of misery of which never even in nightmares
I had dreamed.

As I stood wondering what I should do, a man slouched towards me
out of the shadow of the wall.

'Won't 'e let yer in?'

'He says it's full.'

'Says it's full, does 'e? That's the lay at Fulham,--they always
says it's full. They wants to keep the number down.'

I looked at the man askance. His head hung forward; his hands were
in his trouser pockets; his clothes were rags; his tone was husky.

'Do you mean that they say it's full when it isn't,--that they
won't let me in although there's room?'

'That's it,--bloke's a-kiddin' yer.'

'But, if there's room, aren't they bound to let me in?'

'Course they are,--and, blimey, if I was you I'd make 'em. Blimey
I would!'

He broke into a volley of execrations.

'But what am I to do?'