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. “Look here,” he said, “I brought you here to make love to you. They are very good people, you know. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. Every one has to make a deal with the world.
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