She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. It is always on his person. “But, my dear,” she began, “it is Impossible! It is quite out of the Question. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. I find you were excessively brave, mon pauvre. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. 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. There’s nothing a girl can do that isn’t sweated to the bone.
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