Wood. Mr. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. There is a railroad. ’ ‘Don’t count on it. It is all very complex. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity.
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