One of the doors from this landing opens on a room with a few chairs and tables in, and not much else. The second room, beyond it, contains a small bed, chest of drawers, a nightstand. It's Spartan but sizable. Still, an artist needs a blank canvas to work on. This space will be ideal for me to provide myself with some of the comforts which the other denies both himself and me.

'Ten pounds a month?' I ask the odious woman who has come no further than the main doorway. She nods and I can see the greed in her eyes. 'But you'll settle for eight, won't you?'

For a moment she looks as if she's going to protest, but then her eyes meet mine and she shudders, and nods again, reluctantly. 'Good.' I nod back.