" "Oh!" Ruth laughed softly. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry. But I liked to say it. ‘You are stubborn like a mule. A sob was strangled in her throat.
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