“Yes. Then, her body still tense with the atoms of anger, she sat down upon the edge of the bed and rocked from side to side. He drew a little sigh of relief. What does she look like?’ ‘Black hair. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. I asked you to go. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. But one could not count with any confidence upon Capes.
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