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. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. Something is feeding upon them. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it.
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