They’re all wonderful cooks. “A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. “By Jove!” he said, “there is something direct about you. She shuddered as his naked body pressed against her. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses.
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