\" Michelle's shoulders sank, feeling the weight of the pack. ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. So I made haste and recovered. 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. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants.
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