Lavengro by George Borrow

So I went to London Bridge, and again took my station on the spot by the booth where I had stood on the former occasion. The booth, however, was empty; neither the apple-woman nor her stall were to be seen. I looked over the balustrade upon the river; the tide was now, as before, rolling beneath the arch with frightful impetuosity. As I gazed upon the eddies of the whirlpool, I thought within myself how soon human life would become extinct there; a plunge, a convulsive flounder, and all would be over. When I last stood over that abyss I had felt a kind of impulse -- a fascination: I had resisted it -- I did not plunge into it. At present I felt a kind of impulse to plunge; but the impulse was of a different kind; it proceeded from a loathing of life. I looked wistfully at the eddies -- what had I to live for? -- what, indeed! I thought of Brandt and Struensee, and Yeoman Patch -- should I yield to the impulse -- why not? My eyes were fixed on the eddies. All of a sudden I shuddered; I thought I saw heads in the pool; human bodies wallowing confusedly; eyes turned up to heaven with hopeless horror; was that water, or -- Where was the impulse now? I raised my eyes from the pool, I looked no more upon it -- I looked forward, far down the stream in the distance. "Ha! what is that? I thought I saw a kind of Fata Morgana, green meadows, waving groves, a rustic home; but in the far distance -- I stared -- I stared -- a Fata Morgana -- it was gone -- "

I left the balustrade and walked to the farther end of the bridge, where I stood for some time contemplating the crowd; I then passed over to the other side with the intention of returning home; just halfway over the bridge, in a booth immediately opposite the one in which I had formerly beheld her, sat my friend, the old apple-woman, huddled up behind her stall.