Three blocks more, turning once to left and once to right, she walked on through the night that was already growing cool.

On either side were workingmen's houses, of weathered wood, the ancient paint grimed with the dust of years, conspicuous only for cheapness and ugliness.
Dark it was, but she made no mistake, the familiar sag and screeching reproach of the front gate welcome under her hand.

She went along the narrow walk to the rear, avoided the missing step without thinking about it, and entered the kitchen, where a solitary gas-jet flickered.
She turned it up to the best of its flame.

It was a small room, not disorderly, because of lack of furnishings to disorder it.

The plaster, discolored by the steam of many wash-days, was crisscrossed with cracks from the big earthquake of the previous spring.