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. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death.
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