” She taunted. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. Lucy arranged her hair as Michelle had taught her instead of combing it out. She shuddered as his naked body pressed against her. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. And now she comprehended that the man (she had never known him by any name) knew she had surprised the look and had not resented it. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. " "Ay, but it is strange how much it resembles somebody for whom it's not intended.
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