’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. It fell to the ground and smoked ominously. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain.
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