The rooms affected me unpleasantly.

They were ordinary, mean little French rooms, furnished without taste; the usual mahogany chairs, gilt clock on the mantelpiece and a preposterous bilious paper on the walls.

What struck me was the disorder everywhere; books all over the round table; books on the chairs; books on the floor and higgledy-piggledy, here a pair of socks, there a hat and cane, and on the floor his overcoat.

The sense of order and neatness which he used to have in his rooms at Tite Street was utterly lacking.

He was not living here, intent on making the best of things; he was merely existing without plan or purpose.
I told him I wanted him to come to lunch.