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. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. "But I tell you frankly, and Mr. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. " "Pray cease these compliments," returned Winifred, "and, if you have any communication to make, do not delay it. "But, take my advice, and keep out of Sir Rowland's way, or you'll get the poor lady into trouble as well as me.
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