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. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. .
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