I sleep on credit in a gorgeous bed, a pauper.

The room is large.
I wish it were smaller, for the firewood comes from trees just cut down, and it takes an hour to get the logs to light, and then they only smoulder, and emit no heat.

The thermometer in my grand room, with its silken curtains, is usually at freezing point.

Then my clothes--I am seedy, very seedy.

When I call upon a friend, the porter eyes me distrustfully.