You called her a wanton!" "Because I had every reason to believe she was one. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. “No, you didn’t. I like such interviews. Kneebone in a conciliatory tone. In this spy theory, however, he had no faith whatsoever. 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.
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