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. But in the early days of her abduction, she did not allow him to touch her. Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. . ’ Melusine shrugged. ‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is.
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