A Millionaire of Yesterday

"Filth," grunted Trent - "ugh! I tell you what it is, my venerable friend - I have seen some dirty cabins in the west of Ireland and some vile holes in East London. I've been in some places which I can't think of even now without feeling sick. I'm not a particular chap, wasn't brought up to it - no, nor squeamish either, but this is a bit thicker than anything I've ever knocked up against. If Francis doesn't hurry we'll have to chuck it! We shall never stand it out, Monty!" 
The older man, gaunt, blear-eyed, ragged, turned over on his side. His appearance was little short of repulsive. His voice when he spoke was, curiously enough, the voice of a gentleman, thick and a trifle rough though it sounded. 
"My young friend," he said, "I agree with you - in effect - most heartily. The place is filthy, the surroundings are repulsive, not to add degrading. The society is - er - not congenial - I allude of course to our hosts - and the attentions of these unwashed, and I am afraid I must say unclothed, ladies of dusky complexion is to say the least of it embarrassing." 
"Dusky complexion!" Trent interrupted scornfully, "they're coal black!"