There was little warmth in the sun, but its very existence was enough. I noticed that people smiled more than usual and walked with a spring in their step. We all knew that it was only a temporary respite from the general harshness we had experienced in February, but we were determined to make the most of it. Saturday is a matinee day at the Lyceum, so I knew I would be kept busy with the extra performance. That was good, I thought. Tomorrow, Sunday, I would be seeing Jenny, so this would keep my mind busy and I wouldn’t be counting the minutes. Or would I? I smiled to myself as I walked briskly along Wych Street, swinging my cane and admiring the wood-fronted and gabled Elizabethan buildings. Wych Street was the ancient way leading from the north side of the Strand to Broad Street, St. Giles. Its purlieus to the north consisted of filthy and fetid slums displaying the accumulated dirt and squalor of centuries. But, for now at least, Wych Street and its neighboring Holywell Street were places of fascination and interest.
