McClintock does it; and he knows why. And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. To them all I am nothing. I asked him—to take me away. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. It had been a big event for teens across town. I stole away and walked to the railway station. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs.
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