"I'll gibbet the rascal. Hence!" "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, in a voice, the tones of which were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, "listen to me. My arm's nearly well again. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. . A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city at night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!' … It kind of terrifies me," said Ruth, looking up, first at the face of her husband, then at McClintock's.
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