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. "I am. A thousand dollars is a lot of money for an author to earn. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. . One comes at last to the step from dreams to reality. ’ Then Hilary became serious again. “Yes. "Blueskin," said Jonathan, as that worthy was about to follow, "I advise you to remain with me. Them young prigs is all alike.
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