I don't threaten idly, as you know. She's not for pleasure, but for work. 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. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. His head bent down, intent on kissing her underneath the showerhead.
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