He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. 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. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible.
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