“Nobody lives here,” said the woman, shuffling to her feet. “Nobody but the likes of me and ones like me. No human being is supposed to live here. I had at one time a room on the top of the landin’, the cheapest room in Glasgow it was. Can’t get another one like it now and must sleep out in the snow. Out under the scabby sky and the wind and the rain. It wasn’t healthy for people to sleep here, so someone said, and we were put out. Think of that, and me havin’ the cheapest room in the Cowcaddens. If the cops find me here, it’s quod. Wha be ye lookin’ for?”
“A friend, Sheila Carrol.”
“Never heard of her.” The voice, almost toneless, seemed to be forcing its way through some thick fluid in the speaker’s throat. The darkness of the alley was intense and the women were hidden from one another.
“Everybody that stayed here has gone, and I don’t know where they are,” the old woman continued. “Don’t know at all. Ye dinna belong to Glesga?” she croaked.
“No, decent woman.”
“By yer tongue ye’ll be a young girl.”
“I am.”
“Mind ye, I’m a cute one and I ken everything. It’s not every one that could tell what ye are by yer tongue. Are ye a stranger?”
“I am,” answered Norah. “I was never in Glasgow before.”
“I knew that too,” said the old woman. “And ye want lodgin’s for the night? Then the Rat-pit’s the place; a good decent place it is—threepence a night for a bunk. Beg pardon, but maybe ye’ll have a kid’s eye (threepence) extra to spare for an old body. Come along with me and I’ll show the way. I’m a cute one and I know everything. Ye couldn’t ha’e got into better hands than mine if ye’re a stranger in Glasgow.”