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" "I am almost afraid to utter it," said Kneebone; "but Thames Darrell is murdered. CHAPTER VIII. 9. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. ’ You used to declare that you hated the name. Do you remember what I said when you took me at the Mint four days ago? I told you my turn would come. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. Around him were all the evidences of plenty. " "You're a philosopher, too. They were only passers-by.
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