The floor was covered with ochre-coloured sawdust, trampled here and there into mud, and stained with dark rings of spilled liquor.

Some Malays were crouching by a little charcoal stove, playing with bone counters and showing their white teeth as they chattered.

In one corner, with his head buried in his arms, a sailor sprawled over a table, and by the tawdrily painted bar that ran across one complete side stood two haggard women, mocking an old man who was brushing the sleeves of his coat with an expression of disgust.

"He thinks he's got red ants on him," laughed one of them, as Dorian passed by.

The man looked at her in terror and began to whimper.
At the end of the room there was a little staircase, leading to a darkened chamber.