tired.

Early one Saturday morning, then, when the light is still dim, and we
have the streets all to ourselves, we start. It is so quiet. Not even
the milkman is about yet, and the blinds of the houses are all down. The
whole of the inhabitants of London seem asleep except you and me. We go
right down into the City by London Bridge, and then in a very narrow
dark street we suddenly find a number of people and hear a great noise.
All over the street there are barrows and carts, and people are shouting
and pushing, and everyone is trying to get in and out of the market at
once. The market, which is called Billingsgate, is a great big place
like a barn, and when once we have pushed in among all the rough men and
women there, we see a wonderful sight. You would think you were at the
seaside from the smell, for there are great lumps of seaweed lying about
among the fish on the slabs, and they bring the breath of the sea with
them. Here is a crawling pile of black lobsters; they are alive, and
they turn bright-red when they have been boiled. Poor lobsters! they
can't think where they have got to, and they are stretching out their
long whiskers and looking about with their great goggle eyes, and the
man who wants to sell them is shouting, 'Come, buy! come, buy! fine
fresh lobsters alive, alive, oh!' All the fishmongers in London must be
here, you would think, there are so many; and they buy the fish in great
quantities, not as we do in the shops by the weight, but by the
number--so much for each fish, whether it is big or little. And then
they sell them for more money than they gave for them to the people who
want them for breakfast and dinner, and so they make their living.
Salmon, the king of all the fish, is always sold by weight, though, even
in this market. Look at the salmon--huge silver fish lying on the
stalls, with their scales gleaming in the early light. When they are cut
open their flesh is pink, and all the other fish have white flesh. King
Salmon was taking a little exercise one day, dashing about in the salt
sea or sailing up the river, perhaps, when he ran his great stupid head
into a net, and the more he struggled the worse it was, and strong as he
was--as strong as a fairly big dog--he could not break that net, and so
he was hauled out and brought to shore, where he died. Or perhaps he saw
something very attractive in the water, and made a rush at it, only to
find a cruel hook firmly fixed in his mouth. He mi