“I don’t know what you are talking about, Michelle, I truly don’t. 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. “How can you know?” “I think—perhaps I am rather a cold-blooded person. Her name was Rhea. Without the inclosure were reared several lofty gibbets, with their ghastly burthens. ‘Yes, I know.
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