Perhaps I deceived you about it. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. And she’s pluck to the backbone. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. He walked in her direction. The contest was now carried on between Rowland and Darrell. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. Strange, demure-looking young woman, with wonderful complexion and eyes, and a style about her, too. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed.
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