But they did not know how good she was, how perfect she was. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. Easily I could have killed you. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. 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. ‘She would not tell me.
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