I pity her from the bottom of my heart. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. Milky sunlight spilled on the floor. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. E. Their minds are turned against him. “Is everything okay?” His mother touched his 251 shoulder gently, standing up.
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