” Michelle replied, still haunted by the image of her friend brutally amputating a man’s finger. 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. I believe he’s divorced. "Leave the room," interposed Kneebone, angrily. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America.
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