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 as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. And I think I will indeed blow off your imbecile head. He will not come. It seemed to her in her restored geniality that she liked Manning extremely. Ann Veronica decided that “hoydenish ragger” was the only phrase to express her. ‘Parbleu, you waste time. I want her to get forward, to set her among people who'll understand what to do with her.
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