Nothing. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. He savored the last solo, the coda. "We shall see. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. Profligate women are never reclaimed. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t a bit understand. I dare say it will be chattered about for weeks.
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