"Let it pass. "I alone am to blame. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. She took the initiative and guided his fingers inside her and bore down.
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