Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. ‘Now I see that you are mad indeed. ‘I must, for that the pig has already gone to monsieur le baron. A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. But you’ve got to lend me forty pounds.
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