And then all her restlessness was turned to joy. Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. Here was one of those Americans who would make him breathless before sundown. Hang the wench! Roding was right. ’ Gerald grinned. He had thought it might have that effect. Wood. 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. "What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily.
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