John did not see her until the last period. The major hailed him with a show of relief. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. He had deliberately saved it for last. I couldn’t help the thought. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. He wished he had the time to solve this riddle, for it was a riddle, and four-square besides. Bah.
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