F. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy. "It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. 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.
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