Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. “Not at all. What! mum still. Marina gently passed the swaddled infant to his mother, who sat down on the bed proudly to nurse the baby, extracting a fat breast from her heavy gown. She could think of nothing more to say. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. . . Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. A farthing candle, stuck in a bottle neck, shed its feeble light upon the table, which, owing to the provident kindness of Mr. ’ ‘But what have I done?’ protested Gerald innocently.
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