That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his
appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal
and literary. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. She
shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind. It was impossible to meet the motion bodily. ’ He glanced at Roding. She twanged the
catgut under her fingers. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and
Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of
their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds,
their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the
flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself
fighting against. Maggot tenderly. zip *****
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