"So he may," rejoined Abraham, aloud, "so he may. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle. Everybody, he felt, must be listening behind their papers. So, let's think no more about it. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre.
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