Let alone a girl. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. Like the Valades, I imagine. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating and least emphatic sunshine in the world. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand.
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