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. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist.
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