He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. Gianfrancesco became agitated. The panel in the bookcase. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city. Not very long, if you want to get well. I am really in earnest. 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. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone.
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