The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. This was a much more serious task than he anticipated. About many of these houses hung a mysterious taint as of something weakly and commonly and dustily evil; the women who negotiated the rooms looked out through a friendly manner as though it was a mask, with hard, defiant eyes. ‘I trust you were not altogether disgusted when I kissed you.
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