There was more shouting. Let's talk of this chap. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. 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. Before you know where you are you find yourself in a complication.
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