"Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted. Anyhow, she’s disappeared for some reason or other. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen.
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