“MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. And go quickly that I may finish to search. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. It had been a big event for teens across town. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it.
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