‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. That’s got his nerves to rags. Her tone was icy. 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. \"The servants will hear you!\" \"I don't care! Why do you?” She cried. The girl is in it as deeply as he is. I dined with a friend and went to the ‘Unusual. Wood, delighted at the idea. ’ She giggled suddenly. Take the one that struck him at this moment. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch.
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