Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action.
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