only of the experience of pain but also of its overcoming.
Riley is a gothicmonstrosity, a distillation of the seamier qualities of resort
life who, with his ‘dull black morning jacket, the woollen hat, the gloves with
the finger ends cut out’ (Hall, 2004: 98) gives off the musty redolence of a
Victorian caricature. His grotesqueness is accentuated by his cruelty, by his
pathological drinking, and by the squalid quarters he keeps, which have more
of the lair about them than reputable offices for business. Yet, on first meeting him, Parks is aware of the