’ She shook her head. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. The arrested women were herded in a passage of the Panton Street Police-station that opened upon a cell too unclean for occupation, and most of them spent the night standing. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. He kissed her fingers and grinned. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease.
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