Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. “Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. Maggot. Now the baby’s bright May eyes peered up at her intently. “Would you stand it? I’m going to clear out. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. I’ve wanted you—always. 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. “Ass!” he went on, still warming.
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