But I'll not believe it of you. I am sorry to seem to disobey you, but I am. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. 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. "I knew that would bring him to," thought Wild. Although she had refused to answer his impertinent questions.
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