"It gladdens me to hear you talk thus, Joan," said Wood, in a voice of much emotion, while his eyes filled with tears, "and more than repays me for all I have done for you. Men do services for the love of women, and the woman who takes must pay. I’m not discussing Shakespeare. About many of these houses hung a mysterious taint as of something weakly and commonly and dustily evil; the women who negotiated the rooms looked out through a friendly manner as though it was a mask, with hard, defiant eyes. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. “Eight, Cavendish Square. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out.
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