That night he slept in a low lodging house in Fox Court, very close by his home. He had been there previously to report its desperate condition for the Chronicle, but never had he laid his body down on one of those stinking palliasses. It was an exceedingly low sort of place, with a nest of rambling dormitories arranged around a central court which was slippery with the effluent of a drain. Here a raspy-voiced old fellow in an apron demanded a penny ha'penny, and showed Tobias to a large kind of cupboard--it had no windows--where a pair of ruffians lay amidst the smell of ale and onions.

Here the author of Captain Crumley feigned sleep while his room mates searched his clothes looking for valuables. They were brutish types, with heavy brows and thick wide noses, and he was therefore shocked to feel the gentle intimacy of their fingers as they searched under his pillow and beneath the thin coverlet. He felt their fingers move like rats across his body.

Jack Maggs: A NovelBy Peter CareyPage 184