Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. "One of us has got to die," he panted. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. “Now listen. Ruth will be a gold mine for a man of your peculiar bent.
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