Mr. She was like an angel with one wing. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. ” “I am highly flattered,” she remarked, with subtle irony. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. “We should get out of here.
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