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Timidly and noiselessly a young girl made her way through the

crowd, and strange was her appearance in that room, in the midst

of want, rags, death and despair. She, too, was in rags, her

attire was all of the cheapest, but decked out in gutter finery

of a special stamp, unmistakably betraying its shameful purpose.

Sonia stopped short in the doorway and looked about her

bewildered, unconscious of everything. She forgot her

fourth-hand, gaudy silk dress, so unseemly here with its

ridiculous long train, and her immense crinoline that filled up

the whole doorway, and her light-coloured shoes, and the parasol

she brought with her, though it was no use at night, and the

absurd round straw hat with its flaring flame-coloured feather.

Under this rakishly-tilted hat was a pale, frightened little face

with lips parted and eyes staring in terror. Sonia was a small

thin girl of eighteen with fair hair, rather pretty, with

wonderful blue eyes.