To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. He leaned forward to better drink her in. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. He had more time for her.
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