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. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. ” “I suppose so. Wild here!" exclaimed Mrs. But days had now passed. What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. Only the strong survived. She pushed the former and it opened.
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