The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. 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. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. Spurling, "ay and found Van Galgebrok too. I’m sorry.
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