They’re fairly intricate little things. I don’t know if I express myself clearly. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. The pistol fell to the floor. " The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. 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. It's almost worth while being sent to prison to have the pleasure of escaping. ’ ‘So I heard. Living’s just material.
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