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’ve tried to make words tell it. I’m glad you’re back for all sorts of reasons. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. “Larry buys the meat, makes the stuffing. "My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient. Perhaps because I don’t know. He envied her a little. She could not move.
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