To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. " "The deuce he has!" cried Dump. If Thames is murdered, you are his assassin. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently.
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