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. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. “Will they worry about you getting caught in a storm?” She asked him as she viewed black clouds floating in different directions. Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him.
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