Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. She recalled that she had heard nothing that first time when Gerald and the captain had burst in upon her. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. See paragraph 1.
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