She no longer felt her hunger, only she had a leaden weight on her chest and her brain seemed empty.
Certainly there was nothing gay to look at in the four corners of the hovel.

A perfect kennel now, where greyhounds, who wear wrappers in the streets, would not even have lived in effigy.

Her pale eyes stared at the bare walls.

Everything had long since gone to "uncle's." All that remained were the chest of drawers, the table and a chair.

Even the marble top of the chest of drawers and the drawers themselves, had evaporated in the same direction as the bedstead.