The room was empty, and under the flare of the gas a solitary chamber pot stood forgotten among a heap of petticoats trailing on the floor.

This room afforded him his ultimate impression.

Upstairs on the fourth floor he was well-nigh suffocated.

All the scents, all the blasts of heat, had found their goal there.

The yellow ceiling looked as if it had been baked, and a lamp burned amid fumes of russet-colored fog.