A broken laugh followed the action. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. And then—this sudden thrust. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. Losing his presence of mind, Jack quitted his hold, and dropped upon the frame. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. But since you assure me you didn't write the letters, and Mr.
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