Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. ‘And so?’ she asked. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. Someone was coming out of the house. Let me go my own way towards them. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. ‘Poor things. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne.
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