In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. But recently he had asked God to pile it all on him; and God had added this, with a fresh portion for Ruth. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. “So long as you learn,” said Mr. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. Evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony.
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