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Updated: May 1, 2025
Dickens knew London as no one else has ever known it, and, in particular, he knew its hideous and grotesque recesses, with the strange developments of human nature that abide there; slums like Tom-all-Alone's, in Bleak House; the river-side haunts of Rogue Riderhood, in Our Mutual Friend; as well as the old inns, like the "White Hart," and the "dusky purlieus of the law."
I had known him up in London yonder. Hadn't I, Jo?" "Tom-all-Alone's," the boy replied. Whenever he fixed his attention or his eyes, it was only for a very little while. He soon began to droop his head again, and roll it heavily, and speak as if he were half awake. "When did he come from London?" I asked. "I come from London yes'day," said the boy himself, now flushed and hot.
His job done, he sets off for Tom-all-Alone's, stopping in the light of innumerable gas-lamps to produce the piece of gold, and give it another one-sided bite as a reassurance of its being genuine; and then shuffles off, back to his crossing; little dreaming poor Jo! that because of his presence at the inquest, and because of this interview, the rest of his existence is to be even more wretched than his past has been.
"It's very plain, sir. Since our people have moved this boy on, and he's not to be found on his old lay, if Mr. Snagsby don't object to go down with me to Tom-all-Alone's and point him out, we can have him here in less than a couple of hours' time. I can do it without Mr. Snagsby, of course, but this is the shortest way." "Mr.
Different times there was other genlmen come down Tom-all-Alone's a-prayin, but they all mostly sed as the t'other 'wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly sounded to be a-talking to theirselves, or a-passing blame on the t'others, and not a- talkin to us. WE never knowd nothink. I never knowd what it wos all about."
"I thought," says Jo, who had stared and is looking around, "I thought I wos in Tom-all-Alone's again. Ain't there nobody here but you, Mr. Woodcot?" "Nobody." "And I ain't took back to Tom-all-Alone's. Am I, sir?" "No." Jo closes his eyes, muttering, "I'm wery thankful!"
Woodcourt looks round with that grave professional interest and attention on his face, and glancing significantly at the trooper, signs to Phil to carry his table out. When the little hammer is next used, there will be a speck of rust upon it. "Well, Jo! What is the matter? Don't be frightened." "I thought," says Jo, who has started and is looking round, "I thought I was in Tom-all-Alone's agin.
Turn that dog's descendants wild, like Jo, and in a very few years they will so degenerate that they will lose even their bark but not their bite. The day changes as it wears itself away and becomes dark and drizzly. Jo fights it out at his crossing among the mud and wheels, the horses, whips, and umbrellas, and gets but a scanty sum to pay for the unsavoury shelter of Tom-all-Alone's.
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