Тінь над Іннсмутом

           Sargentwassorry,butIwouldhavetostopoverattheGilman.Probablytheclerkwouldmakethepriceeasyforme,buttherewasnothingelsetodo.Almostdazedbythissuddenobstacle,andviolentlydreadingthefallofnightinthisdecayingandhalf-unlightedtown,Ileftthebusandreenteredthehotellobby;wherethesullenqueer-lookingnightclerktoldmeIcouldhaveRoom428onnextthetopfloor—large,butwithoutrunningwater—foradollar.

           DespitewhatIhadheardofthishotelinNewburyport,Isignedtheregister,paidmydollar,lettheclerktakemyvalise,andfollowedthatsour,solitaryattendantupthreecreakingflightsofstairspastdustycorridorswhichseemedwhollydevoidoflife.Myroomwasadismalrearonewithtwowindowsandbare,cheapfurnishings,overlookedadingycourt-yardotherwisehemmedinbylow,desertedbrickblocks,andcommandedaviewofdecrepitwestward-stretchingroofswithamarshycountrysidebeyond.Attheendofthecorridorwasabathroom—adiscouragingreliquewithancientmarblebowl,tintub,faintelectriclight,andmustywoodedpanelingaroundalltheplumbingfixtures.

           Itbeingstilldaylight,IdescendedtotheSquareandlookedaroundforadinnerofsomesort;noticingasIdidsothestrangeglancesIreceivedfromtheunwholesomeloafers.Sincethegrocerywasclosed,IwasforcedtopatronisetherestaurantIhadshunnedbefore;astooped,narrow-headedmanwithstaring,unwinkingeyes,andaflat-nosedwenchwithunbelievablythick,clumsyhandsbeinginattendance.