Her pulses began to race. 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. Give up your lonely hours of work here. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. ‘Unheard of, ain’t it? To tell the truth, I half expected him to leave everything to one of his doxies.
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