For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. He’s riding down the drive. Ah, if I had written that!" "Don't you want to live?" "I don't know; I really don't know. He removed his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air.
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