‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile. ‘Not at all ladylike. F. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. 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. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death.
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