In a little house, one of many such houses, in a town, one of many such towns in Fatland, sat Nicholas Bly, a small stationer and newsagent, by the bedside of his wife. She said: “Ain’t I thin, Nick?” and again she said: “My hair is only half what it was.” And he said: “It’s very pretty hair.” She smiled and took his hand in hers and she died. When Nicholas Bly was quite sure that she was dead, when he could believe that she was dead, he did not weep, for there were no tears in his eyes. He said nothing, for there were no words in his mind. He felt nothing, for his heart was breaking, and so little was he alive that he did not know it. His wife was dead, his two children were dead, his shop was closed, and he had two shillings in the world, and they were borrowed. He went out into the street and when he saw a well-fed man he hated him: and when he saw a thin hungry man he despised him; on returning to his house he found there a Doctor and a Parson. The Doctor said his wife had died of something with two long Latin names. “She starved,” said Nicholas Bly. The Parson said something about the will and the love of God. “The devil’s took her,” said Nicholas Bly. The Parson cast up his eyes and exhorted the blasphemer to seek comfort in duty and distraction in hard work. “I’m out of work,” said Nicholas Bly; “the devil’s took my work and my wife and my two children. Hell’s full up and overflowed into this ’ere town and this ’ere street. We must fight the devil with fire and bloody murders.” The Parson and the Doctor agreed that the poor fellow was mad. II: MR. BLY IS IMPRISONED Nicholas Bly’s stomach was full of emptiness, the heat of his blood parched his brains, and his sleep was crowded with huddling bad dreams. He ate crusts and cabbage stalks picked up out of the gutter, and when he was near mad with thirst he snatched beer jugs from children as they turned into the entries leading to their houses. His days he spent looking for the devil. Three nights he spent moving from one square with seats round it to another, and on the fourth night he heard of a brick-field where there was some warmth. He slept there that night and was arrested. The magistrate said: “I am satisfied that you are a thoroughly worthless character, an incurable vagabond, and if not yet a danger, a nuisance to society....” (The magistrate said a great deal more. He was newly appointed and needed to persuade himself of his dignity by talk.) Nicholas Bly was sent to prison. III: THE DARK GENTLEMAN