Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. He would provide the necessities of life and protect her. She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved. It is very sweet of you to have waited for me. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. ‘Never mind where. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves.
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