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. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. You two can talk in Lucy and Shar’s room for a few minutes. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. The weather harmonized with their feelings. " "It's a hopeless job," grumbled Blueskin, "and harm will come of it.
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