" So there was always plenty of mail. ‘Come, I told you I wish to know everything about you. 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. There must be something, one feels, in ideas that achieve persistently a successful resurrection. But calmer thoughts quickly succeeded.
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