"Open the door, I say, or I'll burst it open. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. He did not love Ruth. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. As she stared her eyes grew accustomed to the night; and she discovered five persons instead of four. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. “We are not going the right way,” she exclaimed. I said I’d do anything. All this was the work of a minute. .
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