He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. It tore her apart. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time.
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