“Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. Gerald lifted an eyebrow. The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. There was a lot of that, John, a great deal of hunger. Fifty sent home. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. '—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. His literary instincts began to stir. Adieu! my charmer.
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