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But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. The key's in the lock, on the inner side. “Yes. "You're only twenty—not legally of age.
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