He did not realize the cruelty of his question until he had asked it.
“My last gentleman stayed here fifteen years,” said the shattered lady. “He was a copying clerk. He died in hospital this June. Dropsy. He always found this very satisfactory—very satisfactory. I never knew him complain. He was a very good friend to me.”
A great desire for fresh air came upon Sargon. “How much are these rooms?” he asked. “I must think it over. Think it over and let you know.”
She asked her price, the usual price in that street, but as she led the way down to the door she said: “If it’s too much—If you made an offer, sir——”
Despair looked out of her grime-rimmed eyes.
“I must think about it,” said Sargon and was once more at large.
Why did people get so dirty and dismal and broken down? Surely in Sumeria there were never lives like that! It would have to be altered; all this would have to be altered when the Kingdom came.
§ 5
Then as the twilight deepened Sargon discovered just the peaceful room he desired. It announced itself hopefully not by the usual printed card but by a hand-written tablet saying “A Room to Let,” in a window that had no lace curtains but little purple ones enhancing rather than concealing a bare-looking white room lit pleasantly by the flickering of a fire. There were one or two pictures—real coloured pictures—hanging on the white wall. Rather wearily Sargon lifted the knocker and supplemented its appeal by pressing the electric bell.
There was no immediate answer, and he knocked a second time before the door opened. A slender young man appeared holding a small girl perched on his shoulder. She regarded Sargon gravely with very dark grey-blue eyes.