But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. John said nothing. ‘Odd sort of a nun. 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. Also from the capital came news of grave fears for the safety of the royal family, who had moved there from Versailles. ‘Then we will beg.
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