It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. 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. Above her head was an aura of white fire. Spurling," said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper, "you owe your situation to me. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well.
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