F. Wood. “You’ve got my view,” he said, after a pensive second. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. In this way (he informed Spurlock) he kept posted on what was going on in the strictly commercial world. “Not much. " "Perhaps not," replied Jack, carelessly. It doesn’t seem to matter. 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. The campaign’s a success.
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