If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. I’m sorry. 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. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. . Of course, one doesn’t like to talk about things until there are things to talk about. Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact.
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