“It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. She hurried with Jack as fast as she could to the open door to the passage. Again, he would ask a few questions, and Ruth would answer them. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. You see, I have had to look after myself so long that I have developed a terrible bump of independence.
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