It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Not afraid of me, either. Why, honestly enouch. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. The operation was effected with so much rapidity and so little noise, that even if any one had been on the alert, he could scarcely have detected it. That there gatekeeper would’ve called them out again. I am grateful, indeed I am. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. For a long time neither spoke again. “I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said.
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