After turning back the chintz curtains, she looked about her.  She had never been in such a truly awful-looking room before.  She had never imagined that any four walls could enclose such hopeless, dejected desolation as she saw.  A round table stood in the middle of the carpetless room.  There were several other tables about this one.  Upon one stood a basin, in which was water that had some time ago been used for the ablutionary purposes of someone sadly in need of a wash.  Thick rims of dirt encrusted the sides of the basin where the water had not reached.  The looking glass was pimpled with droppings from lighted candles.  Upon a further table was a tumbler filthy to look upon.  The bed was painted iron; it wanted a leg, and to supply the deficiency a grocer’s box had been thrust underneath.  The blankets of the bed (which contained two pillows) were as grubby as the sheets.  The pillows beside the one on which she had slept bore the impress of somebody’s head.  Over everything, walls, furniture, ceiling, and floor, lay a thick deposit of dust and grime.  Misspelt lewd words were fingered on the dirt of the window-panes.  The horror of the room seemed to grip Mavis by the throat.  She coughed, to sicken at a foul feeling in her mouth, which seemed to be gritty from the unclean air of the room.  This atmosphere was not only as if the windows had not been opened for years; it was as if it had been inhaled over and over again by alcohol-breathing lungs; also, the horrid memories of sordid lusts, of unnumbered bestial acts, seemed to lie heavy on the polluted fuggy air.  To get away from the all-pervading stench, Mavis hurried to the door.  This, she could not help noticing, hung loosely on its hinges; also, that about the doorplate were innumerable lock marks and screw holes, as if the door had been furnished with fastenings, times out of number, till the rotten wood refused to support any more.  Mavis pulled open the door and walked on to a carpetless landing and stairs.  She stamped with her foot, but this not attracting any attention, she called aloud.  Her voice echoed as if she were in a vault.  After some time, she heard a door unbolted, and a rough, unkempt man came up the stairs.

“How much?” asked Mavis.

“Five shillin’.”

“For that?”

“Five shillin’,” repeated the man doggedly.

Mavis did not further argue the point, as, when she opened her mouth, the stench of the room she had quitted seemed to fasten on her throat.

She paid the money and was about to fly down the stairs.  Then she remembered her precious bag.  Again holding her nose, she hurried back into the room where she had unwittingly passed the night.  The bag was nowhere to be seen, although its outline was to be easily traced in the dust on the table where she had put it.

“My bag! my bag!” she cried.

“Vot bag?”

“The one I had last night.  Here’s its mark upon the table.”