" "At all events, let me send her away, my dear," supplicated the carpenter, anxious to avert the impending storm. " "How did he take it?" "He did not seem to care. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. "I don't think he would," acquiesced the carpenter. What part of 1902 is it that you grew up in?\" He poked fun at her, clearly infatuated. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them.
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