Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. “It’s a flabby, loose-willed world we have to face. ” She was silent for a time, with her nose on the pillow, and that brought her to: “What’s the good of pretending? “I love him,” she said aloud to the dim forms of her room, and repeated it, and went on to imagine herself doing acts of tragically dog-like devotion to the biologist, who, for the purposes of the drama, remained entirely unconscious of and indifferent to her proceedings. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room.
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