As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal and literary. She spoke slowly. ‘That I do not yet know. On the day he carried the manuscript to Copeley's he brought back a packet of letters, magazines, and newspapers. I feel like a fraudulent trustee. At last—I told a story. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. “None, I thank you,” he answered.
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