He looked at her, his eyes filled with excited terror and astonishment at her move. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the table. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence.
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