‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry. 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. ‘You think so? Well, if that’s so, I know where she gets her impudence, Prudence Sindlesham. ‘Talk to me another time. "I wonder," said Ruth. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance.
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