I spent that entire day in the man's pocket, too ill to care what became of me, and too weak to notice much of what passed around me.

I was conscious of others like Stumpy coming up the creaking stairs and offering their ill-gotten gains as he had done; and I was conscious towards evening, when the last rays of the setting sun were struggling feebly through the dingy window, of a groan in that dismal corner, deeper than all that had gone before.

Then I knew Old Sal was dead.

In an hour the body was laid in its rude coffin, and had made its last journey down those stairs: and that night another outcast slept in her corner.
The night was like the one which had preceded it, foul and sickening.

I was thankful that my illness had sufficiently deadened my senses to render me unable to hear and see all that went on during those hours.
Morning came at length, and one by one the youthful lodgers took their departure.