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’ Miss Froxfield intervened quickly as her betrothed showed signs of erupting again. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. His statement was treated with derision. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. 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. It seemed to encapsulate the mosquito like a little piece of moonlight, it was talismanic to her. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. "Do you hear that! We are not wholly at fault.
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