as shining

w of the night-boat pa

d with drink and voices soft with love. The shrill accents of vulgarity. Hustling waiters. Shop-girls. Bourge

g on the upper deck, muffle

Empire City rose r

as of old. Are your lips stricken mute, o

I am clean, I am pure. Life has passed me.

et. They felt, with keen enjoyment, the beauty of th

y, twitching with a strange ascetic passi

bed monsters ri

an towers, w

serpents, glide t

creep to thei

ghts are jewe

rdle, and her

throbs, the fev

t, breathless s

tens in the c

m, her lover,

ps shall boldly

nant what in

and the madne

ron and her tho

ided on. For a long ti

becoming the lyric mouth of the city, of giving utterance to al

in will respond. In Clarke's house, in the midst of inspiring things, inspiration

deal wi

with it. At least not directly. It was the commotion of

asked Jack, with

heroine will be a princess, a lit

of the

hall not breathe a word to any one. It will tak

ill be p

roadway within a year. And," he added graciously, "I

he thought, and their h

," Jack observed after a while.

en you came yesterday. That accounts fo

. "But now your face is aglow. It seems that the blood rushes to y

id thought. Passion may grip us by the throat momentarily; upon our backs we may feel the lashes of