And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. 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. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. "God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage.
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