" "How does Jack bear it?" inquired Mrs. Back, that you may be close together. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. "No!" she cried. ‘What a fate he finds for me. They have retired. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. At last—I told a story. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left.
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