He presently came to the Law Courts, and walked in the direction of Ludgate Hill. The great buildings rose up stately and grand at his side, but they reminded him rather of a stupendous monument of the dead than of a battle-ground where keen intellects and grave wisdom waged war.
"Justice," he thought. "What justice is there in the world? What do either judges, or barristers, or juries care about justice? The whole world stinks with lies and injustice and cruelty. And yet why do I prate about these things? What is justice? Is there any such thing? What are all our thoughts but blind gropings after a phantom?"
The moon shone clearly overhead, and the spring air was clear and sweet even in the heart of the city; nevertheless there was a cold bite in the wind which found its way across the open spaces.
"As though Anything cared?" he went on musing. "What does it matter whether one is good or bad, idle or industrious? Some work and some play, some are rich and some are poor. Well, what's the odds? We are only like gnats, born when the sun rises, and die when it goes down. The worst of it is that this beastly little race leaves others of the same species behind. And so the farce will go on, until the earth grows cold and the race dies. Well, and what then? Whether one dies young or old, what does it affect? Who cares? Nothing cares."
He looked up at the great dome of blue, and saw here and there a star.
"As though, if there is Anything at the back of all things, the Force which caused those worlds could care for a paltry little earthworm like I am!"
He laughed aloud, and then shuddered at the sound of his own voice. The city seemed like some huge phantom which had no real existence.
He turned into one of the many ways which lead from Fleet Street to the river. If possible, it seemed more silent than ever here. The lights were less brilliant, life seemed to be extinct.
"Oh, what a coward, a poor whining coward I am," he said. "I think, and brood, and drink, and dream, and curse; but I do nothing. I, who used to boast of my will-power and my determination. I live like a rat in a hole; I dare not come out and show myself, and I dare not put an end to the dirty business called life, because I have a sort of haunting fear that I should not make an end of myself even although this carcase of mine should rot."
Presently he reached the Embankment, and he walked to the wall which bounded the river and looked over. The tide was going out. The dark, muddy river, carrying much of the refuse of London, rolled on towards the sea. Yet the waters gleamed bright, both in the light of the moon as well as in those of the lamps which stood by its banks, but the water was foul all the same, foul with the offal of a foul city. He turned away from it with a shudder.