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. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. Whenever ecstasy— any kind of ecstasy—filled her heart to bursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. 17 up-train.
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