As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. Balked, Melusine halted. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. ’ ‘She again?’ enquired his hostess, her delicate brows rising ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light.
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