One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. ‘Gerald Alderley, I don’t know what you deserve. 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. Spurlock began to watch for Ruth's coming in the morning; first, with negligent interest, then with positive eagerness. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. Very intelligent, by the looks of the books she was carrying.
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