“You are developing far too retentive a memory for praises,” said Ann Veronica. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. She swallowed hard. We're told, that 'Whoso is partner with a thief hateth his own soul. Anna, you shall not go.
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