صفحة 11 من 1294

In a little while, the door was opened a tiny crack: the old

woman eyed her visitor with evident distrust through the crack,

and nothing could be seen but her little eyes, glittering in the

darkness. But, seeing a number of people on the landing, she grew

bolder, and opened the door wide. The young man stepped into the

dark entry, which was partitioned off from the tiny kitchen. The

old woman stood facing him in silence and looking inquiringly at

him. She was a diminutive, withered up old woman of sixty, with

sharp malignant eyes and a sharp little nose. Her colourless,

somewhat grizzled hair was thickly smeared with oil, and she wore

no kerchief over it. Round her thin long neck, which looked like

a hen's leg, was knotted some sort of flannel rag, and, in spite

of the heat, there hung flapping on her shoulders, a mangy fur

cape, yellow with age. The old woman coughed and groaned at every

instant.