I hung around Harvard a little when you were there. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. She noticed that this trunk was not littered with hotel labels. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. She dumped him because she claimed she didn’t want him to go any farther. He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced.
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