Wood hadn't struck me. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. "The only disguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as a pig at a Mahomedan dinner. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. She took a deep breath. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence.
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