That guttural, scolding voice, unremittent as the hissing of a steam pipe, is Mrs.Rasnosky.I make a guess that she is chastising the infant Isaac for taking a second lump of sugar in his tea.

_Spam! Bam!_ Yes, and she is rubbing in her objections with the flat of her hand.

That blubbering and moaning, accompanying an elephantine tread, is fat Mrs.
Casey, second floor, home drunk from an afternoon out, in fear of the vengeance of Mr.Casey; to propitiate whom she is burning a pan of bacon, as the choking fumes and outrageous sizzling testify.

I hear a feeble whining, interrupted by long silences.

It is that scabby baby on the third floor, fallen out of bed again, with nobody home to pick him up.
To escape from these various horrors I ascend to the roof, where bacon and babies and child-beating are not.