"They won't hurt _me!_" he answered, and walked on to a public-house at
the bottom of the lane.
The landlord at the door silently recognized him, and led the way
in. They crossed a room filled with sailors of all nations drinking;
ascended a staircase at the back of the house, and stopped at the door
of the room on the second floor. There the landlord spoke for the first
time. "He has outrun his allowance, sir, as usual. You will find him
with hardly a rag on his back. I doubt if he will last much longer. He
had another fit of the horrors last night, and the doctor thinks badly
of him." With that introduction he opened the door, and Turlington
entered the room.
On the miserable bed lay a gray-headed old man of gigantic stature,
with nothing on him but a ragged shirt and a pair of patched, filthy
trousers. At the side of the bed, with a bottle of gin on the rickety
table between them, sat two hideous leering, painted monsters, wearing
the dress of women. The smell of opium was in the room, as well as the
smell of spirits.
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