She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. 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. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. But she found an unknown lady’s discarded garments, and selected some of those that she tried on, sending Kimble off down the secret passage to load them onto the horse she had borrowed—unbeknownst to its owner—from Father Saint-Simon. He had more time for her.
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