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At that time everybody in England agreed that London was a wonderful city. So I was surprised to find it rather ugly, with narrow dirty streets, and people crowded into tiny houses. I was frightened by its huge size. At Smith field, the meat market, I was shocked by the dirt and blood everywhere Then I came to Newgate Prison, where a drunk old man showed me the place where prisoners were hanged, and told me excitedly that four men would die there tomorrow. I was disgusted by this news. My first impression of London could not have been worse.

"Please, Mr Jaggers," he begged, "my brother is accused of stealing silver. Only you can save him! I'm ready to pay anything!"

However I managed to find Mr Jaggers' office, noticing that other people were waiting for the great man too. After some time he appeared, walking towards me. His clients all rushed at him together. He spoke to some, and pushed others away. One man held on to the lawyer's sleeve.

"Your brother?" repeated the lawyer. "And the trial is tomorrow? Well, I'm sorry for you, and him. I'm on the other side."

"Is London a very wicked place?" I asked him, trying to make conversation as we walked.

"You may be robbed or murdered in London. But that may happen to you anywhere, if there is any profit in it for the criminal."

"Get out of my way," said Mr Jaggers and we left the man on his knees on the pavement.

Now Mr Jaggers turned to me and told me that on Monday I would go to Matthew Pocket's house to start my studies, but until then I would stay with his son, Herbert, who lived near-by.

Wemmick, Mr Jaggers' clerk, showed me the way to Mr Pocket's rooms. He was a short, dry man, with a square, expressionless face, between forty and fifty years old. His mouth was so wide that it looked like a post-box, and gave the impression of smiling all the time.

"No, Mr Jaggers!" cried the man desperately, tears in his eyes. "Don't say you're against him! I'll pay anything!"

I was not sure whether I looked forward to living in London, where people like Wemmick accepted crime so calmly.

We arrived at Herbert Pocket's rented rooms. The building was the dirtiest I had ever seen, with broken windows and dusty doors. It stood in a little square with dying trees around it. I looked in horror at Mr Wemmick.

We both started laughing, and shook hands.

"Ah!" he said, not understanding my look. "Its quiet position makes you think of the country. I quite agree. Goodbye, Mr Pip."

"And you," I said, "are the pale young gentleman!"

I went up the stairs, where there was a note on Mr Pocket's door, saying "Returning soon." His idea of "soon" was not the same as mine. About half an hour later I heard footsteps rushing upstairs, and a young man of my age appeared breathless at the door. "Mr Pip?" he said. "I'm so sorry I'm late!"

"But you're the boy at Miss Havisham's!"

"Well!" he said,"I hope you'll forgive me for having knocked you down that day." In fact I had knocked him down. But I did not contradict him.

I greeted him in a confused manner, unable to believe my eyes Suddenly he looked closely at me and gasped.

"Do you know why I was there?" he asked. "I had been invited to Miss Havisham's to see if she liked me. I suppose I didn't make a good impression on her. If she had liked me, I could be a rich man and engaged to Estella by now."

"Were you disappointed?" I asked.

"Oh! I wouldn't want to marry Estella! She's a hard, proud girl, and Miss Havisham has brought her up to break men's hearts, as a revenge on all men."

"Is she a relation of Miss Havisham's?" I asked.

"No, only adopted. Why were you at Miss Havisham's then?"

"To make my fortune, the same as you! But I was lucky."

"Her mother died young. Her father was very rich and very proud, with only one child, Miss Havisham, by his first wife. Then he married his cook, and had a son by her. This son, a half-brother to Miss Havisham, was a bad character, and didn't inherit as much from his father as Miss Havisham did. And so perhaps he was angry with her for influencing her father against him."

"You know Mr Jaggers is Miss Havisham's lawyer? It was kind of him to suggest that my father should teach you. My father is Miss Havisham's cousin, you know."

Herbert Pocket made an excellent impression on me. He always spoke openly and honestly. There was nothing secret or mean in his character, and we soon became good friends. I told him of my past life in the village, and my expectations.

"Call me Herbert," he said. "Would you mind my calling you Handel? There's a wonderful piece of music by Handel, called The Blacksmith, which reminds me of you." Of course I agreed, and as we sat down to dinner, Herbert told me Miss Havisham's sad story.

"Anyway, a certain man appeared, and pretended he was in love with Miss Havisham. She was certainly in love with him, and gave him whatever money he asked for. My father was the only one of her relations who dared to tell her that this man should not be trusted. She was so angry that she ordered my father straight out of the house, and he has never seen her since. Her other relations were not interested in her happiness but only in inheriting her wealth, so they said nothing. The couple fixed the wedding day, the guests were invited, the dress and the cake were brought to the house. The day came, but the man did not. He wrote a letter --"

"Which she received at twenty to nine, when she was dressing for her wedding?" I said.

"Yes, so she stopped the clocks at that moment. She was very ill for a while, and since then has not seen daylight. People think that her half－brother sent the man to get money from her, and that he shared the profits. Perhaps he hated her for inheriting most of the Havisham fortune. Nobody knows what happened to the two men. So now you know as much as I do!"

I began to think that Herbert must have greater expectations than I had.

We talked of other things. I asked Herbert what his profession was.

"Oh, working in the City," he said happily. "Insuring ships. There's a lot of money in that, you know. Huge profits!"

"Where are your ships at the moment?" I asked admiringly.

"Oh, I haven't started yet. I'm working in a counting-house just now. They don't pay me much, but I'm looking about me for a good opportunity. Then I'll make my fortune!"

He and I spent a happy weekend visiting London together. Although it was all very exciting, I could not avoid noticing the dirt and bad smells and heat, and I compared it sadly with my village home, which now seemed so far away.

Looking around the room, at the old, worn furniture, I realized that Herbert must be very poor. And although he seemed full of hope for the future, somehow I thought he would never be very rich or successful.