I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. I’ve just finished my first symphony!” He said proudly. "Stay, dear Thames!—stay!" cried the little girl. 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. ‘No, you don’t.
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