“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. A little exclamation of surprise escaped Ennison. It was a different world. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. But, though the latter was somewhat embarrassed by his burthen, he peremptorily declined Jonathan's offer of assistance. She wanted to think. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. Do you mind talking to some one else. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men.
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