‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. She disengaged her hands and stood up. But this time she wanted nothing for herself: she wanted something for Hoddy—success. "Odd's life!" cried Gay, in astonishment; "is this slight-made stripling Jack Sheppard? Why, I expected to see a man six foot high at the least, and as broad across the shoulders as our friend Figg. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. "But, I should think, after the specimen you've just given of your amiable disposition, no person would be likely to saddle himself with such an incumbrance.
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