Eastward and still eastward through the stale streets he takes his way, until he reaches his destination: a miserable court, specially miserable among many such.
He ascends a broken staircase, opens a door, looks into a dark stifling room, and says: 'Are you alone here ?' 'Alone, deary; worse luck for me, and better for you,' replies a croaking voice.

'Come in, come in, whoever you be: I can't see you till I light a match, yet I seem to know the sound of your speaking.

I'm acquainted with you, ain't I ?' 'Light your match, and try.' 'So I will, deary, so I will; but my hand that shakes, as I can't lay it on a match all in a moment.

And I cough so, that, put my matches where I may, I never find 'em there.

They jump and start, as I cough and cough, like live things.