But death is better for them, since they’re orphans now!” He screamed. Trust you. 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. Always remember that. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. . You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter.
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