The evenings were the worst. It was autumn, and of course they daily
grew longer: they were long enough, I am sure, when we first settled
down in those gray and drab lodgings. For, you must know, my father
and mother were not rich, and there were a great many of us, and the
medical expenses to be incurred by my being placed under Mr. Dawson's
care were expected to be considerable; therefore, one great point in
our search after lodgings was economy. My father, who was too true a
gentleman to feel false shame, had named this necessity for cheapness
to Mr. Dawson; and in return, Mr. Dawson had told him of those at No.
6 Cromer Street, in which we were finally settled. The house
belonged to an old man, at one time a tutor to young men preparing
for the University, in which capacity he had become known to Mr.
Dawson. But his pupils had dropped off; and when we went to lodge
with him, I imagine that his principal support was derived from a few
occasional lessons which he gave, and from letting the rooms that we
took, a drawing-room opening into a bed-room, out of which a smaller
chamber led.
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