Do you know of what I speak?” “I do, I do!” She said. I think I asked if I could eat lunch with her and Trisha Deere one day and she said there was no room at the table. 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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