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Clean water. “Some afternoon. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. 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. And then suddenly—a relief. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair.
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