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. Get the pole out of your ass. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval. I have something that weighs heavily upon my mind. .
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