ABSTRACT
There are dwellers in the peepholes of New York who love the town with a passion rarely visited upon a woman. Theirs is a devotion as fierce and as pure as that which enthralls the thrice-purged, who with peel-egg eyes glimpse the deity in a religious delirium. It is a passion which, from its first manifestation, gives the lover no peace, thriving on scabrous fevers, constant lice-bites, pin-jabs in the buttocks, drummings along the spine, revolving knives in the heart.
