“In Paris. Gold-handled, too. ” She looked into her glass. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. I wouldn't accept my life from him. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child. He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her. "Look at him!" Ruth looked. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him.
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