"I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. She had been careless. 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. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. Melusine jumped up, turning swiftly.
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