Chapter 1

A Misty evening in mid-October; a top room in one of the small dingy
houses on the north side of Moon Street, its floor partially covered with
pieces of drugget carpet trodden into rags; for furniture, an iron bed
placed against the wall, a deal cupboard or wardrobe, a broken iron cot
in a corner, a wooden box and three or four chairs, and a small square
deal table; on the table one candle in a tin candlestick gave light to
the two occupants of the room. One of these a woman sitting in a listless
attitude before the grate, fireless now, although the evening was damp
and chilly. She appeared strong, but just now was almost repulsive to
look at as she sat there in her dirty ill-fitting gown, with her feet
thrust out before her, showing her broken muddy boots. Her features were
regular, even handsome; that, however, was little in her favour when set
against the hard red colour of her skin, which told of habitual
intemperance, and the expression, half sullen and half reckless, of her
dark eyes, as she sat there staring into the empty grate. There were no
white threads yet in her thick long hair that had once been black and
glossy, unkempt now, like everything about her, with a dusky dead look in
it.

On the cot in the corner rested or crouched a girl not yet fifteen years
old, the woman's only child: she was trying to keep herself warm there,
sitting close against the wall with her knees drawn up to enable her to
cover herself, head included, with a shawl and an old quilt. Both were
silent: at intervals the girl would start up out of her wrappings and
stare towards the door with a startled look on her face, apparently
listening. From the street sounded the shrill animal-like cries of
children playing and quarrelling, and, further away, the low, dull,
continuous roar of traffic in the Edgware Road. Then she would drop back
again, to crouch against the wall, drawing the quilt about her, and
remain motionless until a step on the stair or the banging of a door
below would startle her once more.

Meanwhile her mother maintained her silence and passive attitude, only
stirring when the light grew very dim; then she would turn half round,
snuff the wick off with her fingers, and wipe them on her shabby dirty
dress.

At length the girl started up, throwing her quilt quite off, and remained
seated on the edge of her cot, the look of anxiety increasing every
moment on her thin pale face. In the matter of dress she seemed even
worse off than her mother, and wore an old tattered earth-coloured gown,
which came down to within three or four inches of her ankles, showing
under it ragged stockings and shoes trodden down at heel, so much too
large for her feet that they had evidently belonged to her mother. She