Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. ‘Now then, where did you spring from?’ ‘Do not concern yourself from where I come,’ Melusine snapped. It might be three yards in width, and a few more in length; but it was covered with ooze and slime, and the waves continually broke over it. 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.
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