“Eight, Cavendish Square. Without care he will die. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound.
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