She tore open the envelope and read it. 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 was guided into the dock and prompted by a helpful police inspector. That is what my mother used to call me.
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