"Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. 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. Went up to Somerset House to examine the will before he did it.
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