Left alone with Edgeworth Bess, Jack burst into a loud laugh of exultation. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. ‘But you are idiot. Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don't remember that any of them have disturbed my rest. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes.
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