change their name. No sir, I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks
like Queer Street, the less I ask.
A very good rule, too, said the lawyer.
But I have studied the place for myself, continued Mr. Enfield. It
seems scarcely a house. There is no other door, and nobody goes in or
out of that one but, once in a great while, the gentleman of my
adventure. There are three windows looking on the court on the first
floor; none below; the windows are always shut but they re clean. And
then there is a chimney which is generally smoking; so somebody must
live there. And yet it s not so sure; for the buildings are so packed
together about the court, that it s hard to say where one ends and
another begins.
The pair walked on again for a while in silence; and then Enfield,
said Mr. Utterson, that s a good rule of yours.
Yes, I think it is, returned Enfield.
But for all that, continued the lawyer, there s one point I want to
ask. I want to ask the name of that man who walked over the child.
Well, said Mr. Enfield, I can t see what harm it would do. It was a
man of the name of Hyde.
Hm, said Mr. Utterson. What sort of a man is he to see?
He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his
appearance; something displeasing, something down-right detestable. I
never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be
deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I
couldn t specify the point. He s an extraordinary looking man, and yet
I really can name nothing out of the way. No, sir; I can make no hand
of it; I can t describe him. And it s not want of memory; for I declare
I can see him this moment.
Mr. Utterson again walked some way in silence and obviously under a
weight of consideration. You are sure he used a key? he inquired at
last.
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