If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. Get you gone. He was keen to get to work, but the inspiration would not come. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper.
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