They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. She still kicked herself for it. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket.
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