" Ruth spread out the ruffled skirt, sundrily torn and soiled. " The stranger smiled incredulously. It opened and a nun’s head popped out. It was dry, as if she had powdered it. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. ” “I will see that he gets it immediately on his return,” the lady promised. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go.
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