She pawed at him, her hunger for his body making her dizzy with anticipation. 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. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. The Widgett method of thought puzzled her weakly rhetorical mind. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim. ” He stood still, looking at her. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business.
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