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. “There was an accident with a pistol in Miss Pellissier’s room,” he said. White became conscious of a distinct sense of uneasiness, and showed it in her face. “Men’s waists are neither here nor there; A man scores always, everywhere. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms.
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