Practice Typing

It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped cravats about our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldly in a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers by blew out into smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang out crisply and loudly as we swung through the doctors quarter, Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street into Oxford Street.