Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. I can’t tell anyone certain things about my life. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. Drink the toast, Jack. ’ ‘Comment? You wish to murder me?’ ‘No, I wish to beat you,’ he retorted. .
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