His body lay in the gutter. He could feel the hard cobblestones, but the discomfort they caused was nothing next to the pain of the wound in his side. Stabbed by a Knife. It was Ironic he should end this way, bleeding to death in the street. The rain washed the blood away and with it, his life ebbed.
He took one last look at the London street, lit by gaslight that guttered in its glass lamp.
It was the last thing he saw. His London.