The subject matter was generally worthless, but the handling was well done. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. She heard him come in; the light burned on. 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’m starving. “I do wish you and your father could come to some agreement. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment.
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