Too close, he reasoned, for safety. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. She could not say who, not yet.
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