Hi and I'm

welcome back to Nighty Night,

Bedtime stories to keep you awake.

My name is Ravi Jodri and I'm your host. In this

week's episode we confront one of our greatest fears, our own death, and the

question of whether if we had the power we would even want to know when it was coming.

The Coffin Merchant by Richard Middleton.

Part 1. London on a November Sunday inspired Eustace Reynolds with a melancholy too insistent to be ignored and too

causeless to be enjoyed.

The gray sky overhead between the housetops to be

enjoyed. The gray sky overhead between the house tops, the cold wind around every

street corner, the sad faces of the men and women on the pavements,

combined to create an atmosphere of in eloquent misery.

Eustus was sensitive to impressions and in spite of a half conscious effort to remain a

dispassionate spectator of the world's melancholy, he felt

the chill of the aimless day creeping over his spirit.

Why was there no sun, no warmth, no laughter on earth? What had become of all the children? no blue down Southampton Street and chilled Eustus to a shiver that passed away in a

shudder of disgust at the somber color of life. A windy Sunday in London

before the lamps are lit, tempts a man to believe in the nobility of work.

At the corner by Charing Cross Telegraph Office, a man thrust a handbill under his eyes, but

he shook his head impatiently. The blueness of the fingers that offered him the paper was alone sufficient to make him disinclined to remove his hands from his pockets even for an instant. But the man would not be dismissed so lightly.

Excuse me sir, he said following him. You have not looked to see what my bills are.

...