- end_line
- 11945
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.924Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 11928
- text
- the warehousing lane, not very far from the Apostles'. For though that
street was indeed a different one from the latter, being full of cheap
refectories for clerks, foreign restaurants, and other places of
commercial resort; yet the only hum in it was restricted to business
hours; by night it was deserted of every occupant but the lamp-posts;
and on Sunday, to walk through it, was like walking through an avenue of
sphinxes.
Such, then, was the present condition of the ancient Church of the
Apostles; buzzing with a few lingering, equivocal lawyers in the
basement, and populous with all sorts of poets, painters, paupers and
philosophers above. A mysterious professor of the flute was perched in
one of the upper stories of the tower; and often, of silent, moonlight
nights, his lofty, melodious notes would be warbled forth over the roofs
of the ten thousand warehouses around him--as of yore, the bell had
pealed over the domestic gables of a long-departed generation.
- title
- Chunk 5