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“Stop! Stop telling me these things at once! We should stay in the Palazzo! I must protect my ancestral home!” Gianfrancesco exclaimed. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. 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. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. Saviour's Church.
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