The smell of its streets is in the woman's nostrils.
Every now and again she looks towards the door and listens: then turns to the open window.

And I notice that each time she looks towards the door the evil in her face shrinks back; but each time she turns to the window it grows more fierce and sullen.
Suddenly she starts up, and there is a terror in her eyes that frightens me as I dream, and I see great beads of sweat upon her brow.

Then, very slowly, her face changes, and I see again the evil creature of the night.
She wraps around her an old cloak, and creeps out.

I hear her footsteps going down the stairs.

They grow fainter and fainter.