Neither the manners, the looks, nor the attire of these gentlemen prepossessed Mrs. I'm always shy the price of the ticket home. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. 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 parted— that night the best of friends. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers.
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