I’m not such a bad sort. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. And, thrusting a piece of iron into his mouth, he forced him out of the room. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. There was one letter. I’m a man, and I know what I mean. ’ ‘Let’s. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction.
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