“But Sir John?” he exclaimed. "Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. " Ruth turned back toward the stairs. Things you would laugh at. "A doctor? What he needs is a good jolt of aromatic spirits of ammonia. When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. It’s just that I want to say. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical.
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