And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. We simply can’t get away. She could tell that he was furious in that instant. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. But I will never—never return. "Souls," she answered, drily. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible.
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