sat down on the bed to the loud twang of springs. A deep gloom spread through me, heightened by noise of talk, laughter and jukebox jazz from the bar downstairs. My room was scarcely larger than a double bed. An open transom above the door into the hall provided the only ventilation. The air, mingled with that of other rooms, was not fresh. In addition to the bed, I had a tiny gas stove and a broken-down bed stand. On it were two thin hand towels, a half bar of Ivory soap. It was past one now. The light was so feeble I could hardly see to write. With no windows I felt boxed in, suffocating.
