. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. “Why not? Isn’t the whole thing a lie? Isn’t her reputation, this husband of hers, the ‘Alcide’ business, isn’t it all a cursed juggle? She hasn’t the right to do it. Ask mercy of the Lord for the salvation of your own soul, through the merits of the death and passion of Jesus Christ, who now sits at the right hand of God, to make intercession for you, if you penitently return to him. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. Manning told her he loved beauty, and extorted a similar admission from her; he then expatiated upon his own love of beauty. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. As sure as he is now living, I'll pay him a visit in the Old Bailey before morning. And we are not traders looking at equivalents. She leaves town to-morrow.
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