As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. What sort of a human being are you, anyhow?" Enschede gazed seaward. 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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