He took a seat in a coffee-house and amused himself watching flushed and sweaty ferry-passengers appear at the head of the stairs, as if they'd been spontaneously generated from the fœtid waters of the Thames. They'd crawl into the nearby tavern for a pint, fortifying themselves for the traversal of the Bridge's twelve-foot-wide roadway, where passengers were crushed between carts a few times a week. If they survived that, then they'd pop into the glover's or the haberdasher's for a bit of recreational shopping, and then perhaps dart into this coffee-house for a quick mug of java. The remainder of London Bridge was getting down at the heels, because much more fashionable shops were being put up in other parts of the city by the likes of Sterling, but the Square was prosperous and, because of the continual threat of boat-wrack and drowning, the merriest part of town.