He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. "Egad!" exclaimed Wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow. He lost control of the machine, was upset and nearly killed. Traci was the most grateful, because he stopped his sexual advances.
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