She spoke to someone at the rear, someone in the kitchen, and bounced back, and grinned a soft, calculating grin.
"There's one," she said. "I'll show you. Come." And she kicked the dog as she walked away from the register.
Orville followed her through a narrow hall. Walls and doors were wood--all painted grey.
"It's on the top floor. I guess you don't mind."
"I don't mind," he said.
As she climbed a second flight he admired her legs, no rustic hair, smooth; her loose shoes sucked at her heels, making a pleasant sound. They climbed another flight.
"Ssss ... it's quite a way," she said, puffing a little. "Here ... here's the room."
Jiggling her keys she opened the door: messy luggage cluttered a corner, the bed was unmade, its sheets and cover scrambled. Pointing to the luggage, she said:
"The room belongs to a teacher, but he's gone for several days. I'll make up the bed, fix the room, clean it ... I was supposed to have it ready. Shall I fix it for you? It's twenty francs."
Rain had stained ceiling and walls. The floor was warped and window frames were warped. The ceiling seemed to dip toward the two windows. Someone had soiled the bedside rug.