"Go to your own room, woman, directly, or I'll make you!" "Make me!" echoed Mrs. 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. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. Why not kill her here, and leave silently, the way he must have come? Could it be that he had not the intention to kill her? En tout cas, it gave her a chance.
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