‘Tell me, my boy. There was little fighting spirit here. “Believe me, I know. 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. "But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. Which is the nearest way to the river?" "Why, it's an awkward road to direct you," returned Jonathan. " "An excellent maxim!" replied his wife, approvingly; "the best I ever heard you utter. .
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