] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. Good and Evil. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. But the objects in his range of vision remained unchanged. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. Thought she was a nun at first. Taking up a link, which was blazing beside him, he walked across the room; and touching a spring in the wall, a secret door flew open. Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Pragmar probably knew Mr.
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