She held out her arms to him and smiled. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. Your father…. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. 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.
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