It was very black, begrimed, and mouldy.

And, at the top of the staircase, was an old, disjointed, rickety, ill-favoured skylight, patched and mended in all kinds of ways, which looked distrustfully down at everything that passed below, and covered Todgers's up as if it were a sort of human cucumber-frame, and only people of a peculiar growth were reared there.
Mr Pecksniff and his fair daughters had not stood warming themselves at the fire ten minutes, when the sound of feet was heard upon the stairs, and the presiding deity of the establishment came hurrying in.
M.Todgers was a lady, rather a bony and hard-featured lady, with a row of curls in front of her head, shaped like little barrels of beer; and on the top of it something made of net--you couldn't call it a cap exactly--which looked like a black cobweb.

She had a little basket on her arm, and in it a bunch of keys that jingled as she came.

In her other hand she bore a flaming tallow candle, which, after surveying Mr Pecksniff for one instant by its light, she put down upon the table, to the end that she might receive him with the greater cordiality.
'Mr Pecksniff!' cried Mrs Todgers.

'Welcome to London! Who would have thought of such a visit as this, after so--dear, dear!--so many years! How do you DO, Mr Pecksniff ?' 'As well as ever; and as glad to see you, as ever;' Mr Pecksniff made response.