Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. Bullding?” “Stout old gentleman four places down on the left. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. " The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods.
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