Wimpole Street, Part 7 of 7

Conclusion So, there it is. We’ve had a little glimpse into the human life of one straight street, where wants and wishes wash and clash and meet (should fans of Wimpole Street be known as “wimps”?) We’ll leave it now. New stories have begun, no doubt: new posturings and new charades: will future poets pierce those flat facades, so lightly touched by timid London sun? Are bricks and mortar stolid, sullen, blind? Low, soulless things, without an inner life? Or do they share our feelings? Are they rife with energy that lovers left behind? Do they sustain some subtle souvenir of all our comedies, enacted here?