The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. I had left Paris. “Mere sensuality. “So am I. If we don’t live it will think we are afraid of it. At least, he would always be able to take care of Ruth. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo.
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