Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets. "You," answered Jack, abruptly. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. 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. And they never talked of anything at all, never discussed, never even encouraged gossip. He would stare at her intensely when he was certain his parents were not looking in his direction. "You forgot your lunch," she said. Her heartbeat quickened.
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