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. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. You will be—my wife. ” “You disappoint me,” she said wearily. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. Maggot, dealing him a blow, which stretched him senseless on the floor. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. I tell you once more, I'll say and do nothing to get you into trouble. I haven’t taken much account of it until now. Never any doubt of it. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese.
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