She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. She was curious to know why he had boarded a dingy train instead of hailing a cab or his own private chauffeur like the others in expensive suits were doing. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. Some day I may forgive you; but not now. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. ” He smiled and buzzed her in to the glass doors, which opened by an unseen electronic hand. He stopped short with a little exclamation of surprise. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again.
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