On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. Though they do, in secret, I believe. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. I have pleaded with her—no wonder that I have pleaded with her in vain. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you. You have been burning paper, I see. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. I have seen you with Anna, and I have not known whether to be glad or sorry.
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