She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle. No pistols, no daggers today?’ ‘Would you have me show a pistol with so many soldiers? I am not a fool. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered.
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