original Sonic.exe Creepypasta

Mr. Utterson, the lawyer, was a man of a rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner, but more often and loudly still in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theater, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and when any of his friends would get into trouble, he was less inclined to reproach than to help.

It was a habit with him, when he was at home, to take his walk with Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the well-known man about town. It was a nut to crack for many, what these two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common. For Mr. Enfield’s taste was to talk of gossip, and Mr. Utterson’s to listen, and the two walked in silence for the most part, though they did often make an agreeable, if somewhat desultory, circuit of the by-streets of London. Upon a certain walk, passing a certain door, Mr. Enfield suddenly pointed with his cane.