" "Would you like to have me read to you?" He did not answer. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. She was going through with that, anyhow. Ruth loved him. She deserves what has befallen her. It is the immediate inspiration of confidence; it alleviates pain, because we know by that smile that pain is soon to leave us; it becomes the bulwark against our depressive thoughts of death; and it is the promise that we still have a long way to go before we reach the Great Terminal. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that.
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