The weather in The City has decided to turn towards winter. It is not quite there yet; the streets and sidewalks remain clear of snow, if not of waste--rubbish, animal, and human--and the temperatures are such that water does not quite begin to freeze in the open air. But I find that the cold has begun to affect me even so.
I have long had to struggle with my hands and feet growing cold; as often as not, they feel to me like flexing lumps of ice at the ends of my limbs. I do not know why; I exercise a fair bit (if not as much as I probably ought), and I move my hands and feet much, which ought to drive blood into them. Yet even in high summer, I find often that I have cold feet, whether I am frightened or not. Winter is worse.