You were walking through the dimly lit streets of London. Turning a corner, you suddenly found yourself face-to-face with a stern, middle-aged man dressed in somber, well-tailored clothes.

It was Ralph Nickleby, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto you with a calculating gaze. He looked you up and down.

"Who might you be?" he asked, his voice low and cutting. "Another soul wandering these streets, hoping to find fortune where there is none?"