He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. ‘Now what?’ The guard jerked his head up the corridor. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. ‘Is that a gesture of friendship?’ She stamped her foot. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him.
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