The Leads 405 XXI. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared. “I don’t know why. She looked away. There was just time for the girl to raise her arm to chest height and draw it back before Roding seized her. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles.
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