Can I come in?"
"Oh, yes, come in, whoever you are," said the voice. Accordingly he
opened the door and entered, and this was what he saw. The room, like
the rest of the house, had been stripped of everything, with the
solitary exceptions of a box and a mattress, beside which were an
empty bottle and a dirty glass. On the mattress sat the fair Edithia,
/alias/ Mrs. d'Aubigne, /alias/ the Tiger, /alias/ Mrs. Quest, and
such a sight as she presented George had never seen before. Her fierce
face bore traces of recent heavy drinking and was moreover dirty,
haggard and dreadful to look upon; her hair was a frowsy mat, on some
patches of which the golden dye had faded, leaving it its natural hue
of doubtful grey. She wore no collar and her linen was open at the
neck. On her feet were a filthy pair of white satin slippers, and on
her back that same gorgeous pink satin tea-gown which Mr. Quest had
observed on the occasion of his visit, now however soiled and torn.
Anything more squalid or repulsive than the whole picture cannot be
imagined, and though his nerves were pretty strong, and in the course
of his life he had seen many a sight of utter destitution, George
literally recoiled from it.
"What's the matter?" said the hag sharply, "and who the dickens are
you? Ah, I know now; you're the chap who whacked Johnnie," and she
burst into a hoarse scream of laughter at the recollection.
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