Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. But when she spoke her lips quivered, and they came. They did not have to wait long. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness.
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