She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. To Ruth came that of the great world, her lawful lover at her side; and there would be glorious books into each of which he would unconsciously put a little of her soul along with his own, needing her always. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, pervert?” “Yes sir. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things.
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