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Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying

in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads

thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a

dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black

shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright,

now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of

the metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to

themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low,

monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then

suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own

thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbour. At

the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside

which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old

man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon

his knees, staring into the fire.