He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind. “She can’t go now. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. ” He played it cool, but he had seen it in her face.
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