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. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 21-09-2024 17:29:57
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