She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. “I don’t know why. Do you understand?’ ‘Aye, sir. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window.
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