Sepulchre's. It was easy to recognize, the one thing that had stayed the same over the years. For Melusine was on him again, the point of her sword lunging so that he backed up onto the dais. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered.
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