Of course, at home there would have been questions. If they are not obvious errors, they are left as in the original. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. Anna passed serenely out. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. 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.
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