He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. He wouldn’t like it if people did it to him. You were only one room removed from the library, see. “Go on!” “People talked to you in Paris about us,” she continued, “about Anna the virtuous and Annabel the rake. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. CHAPTER VII.
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