"Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. Opening the door he then stepped into a dark narrow passage leading, as he was well aware, to the chapel. He ran back to his car, glancing only once at the man in the car. At least I imagine so, if what Madame Valade claims is true. My feelings overpower me. The dusky obscurity of the room was twice welcome. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand.
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