His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. She sat with him in the courtyard after serving him 20 spiced wine. I hate to see you spoil yourself with guys like me. They ought to put a lamp. D.
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