A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. “I will not have this slavery,” she said. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. The Widgetts talked with a remarkable absence of external coverings; the Palsworthys found all the meanings of life on its surfaces.
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