” He said. The clock struck half-past ten. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. ” There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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