"You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. I shall now be able to test my skill. Burn your palette and your easel. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. The change in her face was not a pleasant one.
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