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. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. I'll not forget your two mistresses, Jack. ” “You are foolish,” she declared, with a note of irritability in her tone.
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