Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. " Broken pipes littered the floor, if that can be said to be littered, which, in the first instance, was a mass of squalor and filth. I can’t even carry a tune with a bucket.
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