“I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. 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. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. "True," replied Wild. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. "The gen'l'man'll be here directly. \"Oh. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots. "In the devil's name, is that you, Jack!" ejaculated Kneebone.
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