"What's the matter, lookin' for somebody?" from behind him, somewhat crestfallen; but she doesn't pursue him. The porch is mostly deserted; the wind off the river is damp and faintly foul, and the view is nothing inspiring -- a crowd of shabby buildings and makeshift walkways built up a little from the muddy ground, not quite a full storey below. No one is visible from here, except a couple of shadowy figures threading their way in the distance, but there's some kind of argument going on not far off, three or four voices raised at once; and one of them, scaling above the rest, has a familiar needling timbre.