"I give you one minute for reflection. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast. He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. . Life is morality—life is adventure. 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. ’ ‘But two letters,’ put in the woman. Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. I've got to know why. .
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