On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search. 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. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. ” She made some inane response. And let's see if either of these women, who prate of their love for you, will do as much. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her.
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