The well of the staircase disappeared into darkness, pricked by tiny gas-jets, and there were sounds of men talking and doors slamming seven flights below, in the warm gloom.
'Do they give you a free hand here ?' said Dick, cautiously.

He was Ishmael enough to know the value of liberty.
'Anything you like; latch-keys and license unlimited.

We are permanent tenants for the most part here.

'Tisn't a place I would recommend for a Young Men's Christian Association, but it will serve.

I took these rooms for you when I wired.' 'You're a great deal too kind, old man.' 'You didn't suppose you were going away from me, did you ?' Torpenhow put his hand on Dick's shoulder, and the two walked up and down the room, henceforward to be called the studio, in sweet and silent communion.
They heard rapping at Torpenhow's door.