What Squire heard about Klock was true and arriving at Indiana that evening he was astounded by what he saw. Almost complete Ruthven Hall was inconceivable. A massive building. A fortress. Heaven high pillars and a portico and a persistent symmetry showed in every aspect of the construction. He stopped in his tracks to study the form. Prominent even to the gods the hall was a stone monolith. Permanent. Right-angled. Monumental. English. Not Greek like people said. Space was a menace. A dare. Surrounding trees and bushes blossomed from coiled buds into quivering summer lime but to Squire’s mind Ruthven hall was winter white and a sepulchre and folly of a rich man with eyes blind to the face of poverty around him.