ToC Thames Darrell's fears were not, however, groundless. They were Jonathan Wild and Quilt Arnold. 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. “Do you want to ruin me? I shall walk back. The boy would never know just how lucky he was. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him.
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