Never was there another girl like this one. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. Also she had tried him as a dragoman and as a gendarme, which seemed the most suitable of all to his severely handsome, immobile profile.
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