" "Give them to me," replied Jack. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. He may not be able to eat tin-cans, but he tries to. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. “John, we should be getting out of here. What you said wanted saying. ” “I can’t work. " "What is it?" asked the poor woman.
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