Mr. Still—you must learn for yourself. 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 tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat. It was only some hours after that these ambiguous elements evaporated and vanished and loathing came, and she really began to be thoroughly sick and ashamed of the whole disgraceful quarrel and scuffle. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. He embraced her fully. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. There was one letter.
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