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. The plank hung over his head. But Gosse began to drag her towards the door. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue. I didn’t get it, why she put on the innocent act.
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