"I'm not going to kill you."

He went out, leaving the door open and the dogs in the bedroom.

After two minutes, Ruth came out. She had put on a cotton dressing gown, and belted it tight at the waist like a little girl. Her body was that of a woman, but it had always been. She carried her drawing.

"Do you want to see?"

She did not look around at the room.

He took the drawing from her hand. He glanced at it and threw it down on the carpet with some curse in another language.

"Is that German?" she said.

"Latin. You're an ignorant bitch. You'll have to be taught."

"I don't like school."

"Tutors," he said. "You'll learn somehow."

"I'd get bored."

"If they bore you, we'll send them away and find you others. It's their task not to bore."

He stared at her, his face was terrible. It was full of the murder he had committed, where before murder had seemed to leave him unmarked.

On the green carpet the black and white drawing lay face up. It showed a hall, combining both a terror of enclosure and a horror of wide open space. Vast pillars held up a ceiling far above, and their reflections sank under them as if in water. Before a slab of stone a white-robed man raised high a sword. His hair also was white, and fell behind him. The figure was too small to require much detail, or any real features.

"Do you want me to go back into the bedroom?" said Ruth.

"No. Go into that room over there." He pointed.

She crossed the green living room, and opened the door of the room with whitewashed walls.

"Here?"

"Go to the table. Open the left-hand drawer."

"All right."

She obeyed him, but as if reluctantly.

With her hand on the drawer, she said, "What is it?"

"Look and see."

She opened the drawer. Inside was a pile of sketches, some of which had been torn from books. On the top was a watercolor painting recently done, perhaps a few days old.

Ruth drew it out.

A wide hall, red, red pillars large as houses, holding up a mile-high roof, and reflecting in the floor like monstrous candles. There was no sacrificing priest. Otherwise, it was the same.

"It's like mine."

"And where is yours meant to be?"

"Egypt." Ruth came from the whitewashed room. "Do you want to do the game, now?"

"No. Sit there."

She sat in the green armchair, her bare feet just reaching the floor.

"Who are you?" he said.

"I'm Ruth."

"And who is Ruth?"

"Scarabae."

"And who am I?"

She lowered her eyes. "Malach."

"And who is Malach?"

Ruth folded her hands.

"My jailor."

"Why?"

"I have to be punished."

"Why?"

"I hurt Anna, and the others."

"Why?"

Ruth looked up. Her eyes were alive and fiery black.