"By George!" he exclaimed. " "It matters not what I think," replied Wild. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. Never was heard such a bawling as these unfortunate wights kept up. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders.
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